


The Captain's Guerdon

by Eressë (eresse21)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 70,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desire and fate seem to conspire against a legendary warrior when he catches the attention of one relentless soldier prince. The back story to Elladan and Glorfindel’s relationship in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1697114"><b><i>Chance Met</i></b></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._  
> 
> While it seems generally accepted today that Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Rivendell are one and the same, the time and manner of his return to Middle-earth remain debatable. There is a supposition that he may have accompanied Gandalf and the other Istari when they sailed from Valinor in the year 1000 of the Third Age and therefore came to Rivendell when it was already long established and Elrond’s children fully grown.

Imladris, _lairë_ T.A. 1000  
They gathered in the courtyard of the Last Homely House—the lord of Rivendell and his lady wife and three children and a goodly number of the household. It was little more than the second hour after sunrise but the sentries had sent word that the awaited delegation from Lindon had begun their descent into the steep valley that sheltered the elven refuge that was Imladris.

That this delegation would be welcomed by Elrond himself and his entire immediate family not to mention his principal counsellors and house staff bespoke the importance of their arrival. Or rather what their arrival would herald. For there were few matters that could compare in significance with the imminent advent of a legend come back to life.

He rode at the head of the approaching party, tall and lean, his warrior’s body bristling with barely contained power, his fair hair outshining the very sun itself. And his face—there were few who could rival such incandescent beauty and even fewer who believed that there were any at all who did. 

Glorfindel, acclaimed Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in ancient Gondolin and savior of his king’s sole grandchild, had returned to life and was now returned to Middle-earth.

There was a discernible hush when he entered the courtyard astride a steed of obvious Valinorean birth. Immaculate Asfaloth, as immortal as his master, cantered onto the cobbled space and came to a halt before the lord and lady of the vale. Beside elven horse and rider, the rest of the Lindon party paled considerably in comparison.

Before Elrond or any other could say a word, Glorfindel dismounted and bowed deferentially before the Half-elven lord and his beauteous lady. A tacit indication of his role in the scheme of things and his dutiful concurrence with it.

“Welcome to Imladris, Lord Glorfindel,” Elrond softly intoned, liking at once the look of strength, courage and reliability the fair-haired Elf exuded. “I trust your journey here was without incident?”

The warrior smiled. In that instant, it was as if the sun had chosen that very spot in all of Arda upon which to shine its brightest. Behind Elrond, the brethren Elladan and Elrohir caught their breaths in astonishment while Arwen their sister could only gaze quite raptly at Rivendell’s new captain.

“Please, my lord, call me by name for I bear no title this day,” Glorfindel said, his voice warm and rich as newly drawn milk. “I was sent back to protect you and yours and this I will do to the best of my ability.”

“But we would also have you as a friend, Glorfindel,” Celebrían said. “And I for one owe you my everlasting gratitude for without your valor, my beloved husband would not have come into the world.”

She reached out a white hand in a gesture of friendship. Glorfindel took her hand and bowed briefly over it in acceptance of what was offered. With that formality done with, Elrond proudly bid his sons and daughter to come forward. While he awaited the inevitable introductions, Glorfindel studied the Imladrin lord and his children with frank curiosity.

Here were the scions of the child he had died to preserve. The heirs of Eärendil whose celestial light had guided the Telerin ship that bore him and the Istari to the Hither Shores. He had borne one of the most hideous deaths imaginable to ensure the life and future of Turgon’s grandson. Now he had been sent back to Middle-earth to protect the fruits of the Mariner’s loins. He would finally know whether his sacrifice had been worth it.

 _By Elbereth, they are more beautiful than I ever expected_ , he thought as he took in their features. And possessed of an allure that was neither ephemeral nor earthy but simply and singularly theirs. His eyes were drawn in particular to the brethren. 

It was hard to ignore the startling mirror imagery of Elrond’s sons. Especially when what was mirrored was as much astounding strength and innate charisma as incomparable beauty. He glanced at their sister and decided at once that they were her match in comeliness. Had they been female, their graces would have been extolled as heartily as hers.

He wrenched his captivated gaze from them when Elrond presented the others—his sage chief counsellor Erestor with whom Glorfindel would doubtless regularly confer; the Last Homely House’s multi-talented steward cum minstrel, Lindir; Gildor Inglorion of the Wandering Companies who oft gathered news from abroad for Elrond. Glorfindel concealed his smile at the euphemism for spying.

Once the introductions were done, he perused Elrond’s children once more, his eyes alighting on each with veiled interest. Without warning, his gaze locked with Elladan’s.

Purest grey met deepest blue. In that one exchange of gazes, Glorfindel felt something shift within him. The older twin looked at him with the same admiration and curiosity as his brother and sister. But there was something else in Elladan’s gaze. Something that stirred the golden-haired Elf. Glorfindel inwardly shivered from the unexpected sensation.

Only once in all his long life had he ever known the feeling though he had not realized its full nature until too late. 

It had started in Valinor ere the light of the Two Trees was extinguished but only gained acknowledgement in Gondolin before its grievous fall. He had been reluctant to accept that which rendered him bereft of control of his very heart and will and thus had only come to accept it when time had run out on the hidden city. 

But here, in the spacious courtyard of the Last Homely House East of the Sea, upon first sight of Elrond’s older son, he knew it at once. Recognized the sensations that oft comprised an emotion he had long thought banished from his being.

Unfettered enthrallment. Preternatural rapport. Raw desire.

Glorfindel recoiled from the unbidden feeling. This was not the time or place to entertain such thoughts. And he had no wish to embroil himself once more in matters of the heart. But even as he forced his attention elsewhere, he knew it would be no easy thing to set aside. 

Because there was no pretending that the feeling was his alone. He had glimpsed reciprocation in the older twin’s eyes.

Whence this mutual attraction? And why _him_? Why now?

****************  
Glossary:  
lairë – Quenya for summer

_To be continued…_


	2. I.

_Tuilë_ T.A. 1010  
The two combatants warily faced-off, the first tentative moves but a means to assess the other’s strengths and weaknesses. Though hand-to-hand fighting was not as readily employed by Elves in this later day as the usage of sword or bow or knife, it was nonetheless a much-desired skill and an oft dearly bought one. 

The Noldor of the First Age had excelled in the art but with the succeeding ages, the Elves’ mastery of it had slowly dwindled as the use of sword and bow steadily gained ascendancy. Few remained even amongst the most renowned warriors who could cripple or kill a foe with their bare hands and have no regrets about doing so. Glorfindel, captain extraordinaire of Imladris’ army, was one of them.

He was undoubtedly a formidable swordsman; was justly famous for his dexterity with every form of blade known to Elf-kind. Less known were his fearsome skills in close-range, unarmed combat though these had served him in good stead in the countless battles he had taken part in since the Elder Days. He could never be rendered helpless before his enemies even were he to lose his weapons. He was known to have broken thick, orkish necks with little more than a calculated blow or a well-placed kick.

This morning he had taken on one of his best students in this most primal of the battle-arts. Since Glorfindel first reintroduced the ancient practice to Rivendell’s warriors, Elladan had taken to it with eagerness, swiftly learned the most basic maneuvers and soon graduated to the increasingly complicated and difficult movements that were the mark of a seasoned hand-to-hand fighter.

Both of Elrond’s sons were already superb in this particular regard. But Glorfindel had immediately noticed a difference in their interest in it. Elrohir assiduously trained himself because of his innate warrior’s need to master all the martial skills. But given a choice between direct combat and sword fighting, he would most likely gravitate toward the latter. Elladan was altogether different.

The older twin reveled in the former. His tactile nature emerged even in battle and he found great satisfaction in the elemental sensation of bone snapping or flesh splitting upon collision with his fist or heel. Glorfindel sometimes wondered if this was due to the half-mortal blood that flowed in his veins—that mayhap he was more inclined to his mortal heritage than Elrohir. Then again he would remind himself that such hallowed warriors as Fëanor’s sons and his old comrade-in-arms Ecthelion had also enjoyed those self-same results of hand-to-hand fighting.

The object of the morning’s spar was to test Elladan’s grasp of the most recent maneuvers Glorfindel had taught the twins. Stripped down to sleeveless jerkins, hardy long breeches and boots, teacher and student were a study in contrasts: golden hair against sable locks; luminous alabaster skin juxtaposed with fair, faintly sun-kissed flesh; eyes the color of the ocean at its bluest as opposed to pools of stormy grey shot with silver. Even their tall, well-made bodies displayed marked differences. Glorfindel was elven slender though sleekly muscular as a warrior was wont to be. Elladan on the other hand bore traces of his human ancestry in the slightly broader shoulders and more solid limbs of his otherwise lean and lissome body.

The Noldo initially threw a few swift but glancing punches, gauging Elladan’s responses and checking his reflexes. And then they were grappling in earnest, blocking brutal blows, evading lethal sweeps of arm or leg, keeping from being grasped and thrown down for the moment one lost one’s upright position, it became that much more difficult to recover and stave off defeat.

Elladan espied an opening in Glorfindel’s defenses. Before the stunned eyes of the watchers, he had the captain flat on his back. Not one to waste his advantage, Elladan threw himself atop the downed Elf, knees and feet on either side of the latter’s legs digging into the ground for purchase, hands catching Glorfindel’s to keep him from throwing him off. Where the fair-haired warrior was concerned, victory was never a given even when it seemed near at hand.

Elladan gritted his teeth, the muscles on his bare arms cording with the strain of holding Glorfindel down. The Noldo was incredibly strong and not one to concede defeat so easily. Not for nothing had he been proclaimed one of the greatest warriors of the First Age.

“Yield, O Ancient One,” Elladan growled. “Own yourself bested.”

“Wishful thinking, _pen neth_ ”—young one—the captain countered.

With a mighty heave of his body, he rolled them over and trapped Elladan beneath him. But before he could secure his hold on his student, the Peredhel shoved him off and onto his back once more. It seemed Elladan was destined to win this match after all.

But then, in the blink of an eye, the tables were turned yet again. Glorfindel wrested one of his hands free, slipped it between their bodies and, in a flurry of motion, flipped Elladan on his back. There was a concerted gasp from the onlookers; none had anticipated the lightning swift maneuver. All raptly watched as the Imladrin captain straddled his opponent in a manner that brooked no retaliatory reaction. 

Elladan found himself quite ruthlessly shackled by Glorfindel’s legs all but clamped around his, the fair-haired Elf’s upper body bearing down upon his own torso and powerful hands gripping and pinning his wrists to the ground. With a true soldier’s quick summing up of the situation, he realized that had this been real combat, the re-born warrior would have imprisoned his wrists with one hand and slit his throat with the other.

He fairly thrummed with a mixture of embarrassment, fascination and a hunger to learn the feint that had proved his undoing.

“Do you yield?” Glorfindel demanded, hardly panting despite his earlier exertions.

Elladan glared defiantly at him at first. But then, without warning, he suddenly smirked and his eyes gleamed mischievously. “Aye, I yield,” he unexpectedly purred. “But do you truly wish it of me?”

Glorfindel stared at him in surprise, a faint frown creasing his brow. He felt Elladan shift his hips slightly beneath him. He almost gasped when he felt the telltale jab against his groin. 

It was not the first time the twin had resorted to such tactics on Glorfindel to gain either the upper hand or, in this case, freedom from the older warrior’s pinioning holds. Unfortunately, it was a ploy that worked all too well since there was no denying the effect it had on Glorfindel as well. His lips tightening, Glorfindel abruptly released his captive and rose to his feet, pulling Elladan up with him.

Vaguely aware of the slow dispersal of their audience now that their match was done, he glared pointedly at the younger warrior. Around them, other forms of martial play commenced and the sounds of clashing blades began to resound across the yard.

“I sincerely hope you do not go about employing such devices on orcs and brigands,” Glorfindel chided. “That might very well serve to hasten your end!”

“I am no fool. I use what I know will work,” Elladan retorted. “‘Tis hardly a fault to have discerned what distracts you most effectively.”

Glorfindel felt his cheeks grow warm at the cheeky rejoinder. He gazed warningly at his brash student. “You test me overmuch, Elrondion”—son of Elrond—he snapped though with little heat. “You had best beware. You may one day rue it.”

Dark, elegant eyebrows rose in spurious innocence. “Rue what?” Elladan coolly inquired. “Being mastered by one such as your esteemed self? I would hardly call that cause for regret.”

Glorfindel regarded him silently for a space. Any other Elf would have cowered under so intense a perusal but Elladan boldly met his studied gaze. The air between them fairly crackled with tension as well as an intuitive connection. At length, the captain sighed and shook his head, breaking the tenuous link.

“You are indeed sprung from Turgon’s loins,” he wryly murmured.

That took Elladan aback in turn. “What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

“You are as willful as he was. ‘Tis a wonder your parents have not yet fled to Valinor in despair!”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away to check a pair’s swordplay on the other end of the yard. Elladan watched him go, a small smile curving his sinuous lips.

And Elrohir watched his twin in turn, a thoughtful expression upon his comely face.

* * * *

The day ended for the brethren on a less strident note. The Hall of Fire was not a venue for arguments or brawls after all. Nonetheless, the chamber immediately grew fraught with anticipation as soon as they walked in. They had that effect on just about everyone outside of their family. Even Erestor and Lindir who had had a hand in raising them could not help but regard them with some wonder and appreciation.

Nearly all eyes followed them as they made their way to their parents and Arwen where the three were seated by the great hearth. As warm and affectionate with family as they were stern and aloof with those they could not abide, they went willingly into their father’s brief but loving embrace, returned their mother’s kisses and exchanged happy greetings with their only sister. 

They then made the rounds of the spacious hall, speaking with a winsome Elf-maid here and jesting with a strapping _Edhel_ there before finally settling themselves in one of the comfortable couches that lined the wall. And all the while, they remained the center of virtually everybody’s attention.

It wasn’t simply because they looked so alike that one had to practically stare at them for several minutes to tell them apart. Nor was it only due to the unrivaled beauty of their faces and forms though that certainly accounted for a good portion of the fascination with them. 

Comeliness aside, they were also possessed of an elusive magnetism that stemmed from a combination of seemingly conflicting qualities. Confidence balanced by humility. A healthy, oft bawdy sense of humor that more than offset their moments of intimidating gravity. They were pure-hearts despite their breath-taking sensuality; princes, warriors and scholars who looked at the world about them with searching, knowing eyes, perceiving much of others’ very souls within the space of a conversation or even a mere exchange of gazes.

To this latter gift had Glorfindel been constantly subjected since he first set foot in the valley. He was not by any means cowed by it, but it did trouble him that any would dare to seek his innermost thoughts and feelings and do it simply because it was a natural thing for one to do. Not that he thought Elladan capable of malice or underhanded dealings. But he had always been an intensely private person. Even with the closest of associates he always kept parts of himself strictly his own.

As a result, he was regarded as an enigma. Older by far than any Elf in all of Imladris he still seemed so much more youthful than most. He seemed perpetually aglow with sunshine—his smile brightened up any gathering, his merry laughter was contagious, and he seldom turned away a soul in need but would comfort or nurture or simply listen as the situation warranted. Yet he was guarded. 

He did not speak overmuch of himself, shared little of his most personal thoughts or feelings and, most telling to those who observed him with more than friendly interest—and they were numerous, admirers and suitors alike—he took many to his bed but kept none beyond the length of a few nights’ indulgences. He was for all intents and purposes a loner even when he was not alone. But none could fully ascertain if he was lonely.

He sat in one corner this night, deep in conversation with Gildor who was in residence at the Last Homely House for the week. No doubt discussing the latest “news” the son of Inglor had uncovered during his latest journey.

Elrohir noted his brother’s many glances in the captain’s direction. Glances that were pregnant with an absorption that went well beyond the blatant hero-worship most Elves of their age bestowed upon the legendary warrior. But so deftly did Elladan conceal his true intent that only one who knew him well, indeed the only one who sometimes knew him more than he knew himself, could guess what thoughts lurked in the recesses of his mind. 

The younger twin sighed and tapped his sibling’s arm. Elladan glanced at him questioningly. Elrohir gestured in the general direction of the golden-haired Elf.

“You are smitten,” he bluntly stated.

Elladan knew his feelings known to his brother. There were few if any secrets between them. Though they were not completely alike in personality they were sufficiently similar in their needs and desires and almost always knew when the other sought assuagement of said needs and desires.

“I am,” Elladan admitted. “He is—beautiful. Beyond anything I have ever known.”

“He is newly come from Aman,” Elrohir pointed out. “His flame burns more brightly than any Noldor who still abide in Middle-earth.” He paused and pursed his lips. “He outshines even our grandam.”

“Aye, he does,” Elladan said. “Yet ‘tis not merely that which renders him so beauteous. Do you not feel it, Elrohir? His clarity of heart and spirit? There is no stain on him—not even the mark of the kinslayings.”

“He did not take part in that evil,” Elrohir reminded him. “And even had he done so, his sojourn in the Halls of Awaiting would have cleansed him of that sin. But I wonder at your contention regarding the unblemished state of his heart or spirit. History and lore tell us that chastity was never his strongest point. Even in Valinor and later Gondolin, he was something of a rakehell, albeit a much loved one. His affairs were legion even then; his lovers plentiful though he took none as mate. And already he has formed many liaisons in the valley and also in Lórien and the Havens and him not even a ten-year returned to Middle-earth. He is far from spotless in that regard.”

Elladan shook his head. “To seek relief for one’s bodily needs or fulfill a desire for convivial company in no way stains one as you well know, _muindor_ ”—brother— he countered. “He has never seduced the unknowing, forced the unwilling or coerced the uncertain. He takes only what is freely offered and never misleads any into believing there is more to be found in his bed than simple pleasure. Have you not noted how he remains on friendly terms with all his lovers even after parting ways with them? That is more than we can say for many others, including ourselves.”

“You defend him passionately,” Elrohir remarked with some amusement. “I wonder what our valiant Balrog slayer would say were he to hear his lord’s son wax so effusively about his virtues?”

Elladan scowled even as a faint blush suffused his cheeks. “He would doubtless be discomfited and shy from my company even further,” he said. “I beg you to keep this to yourself, Elrohir. There are already enough obstacles in my way without adding more to the list.”

“Obstacles?” Elrohir echoed. “To what end? Do you truly intend to woo him?”

“And mayhap win him.”

“You are brave.”

“So kind of you to say so when in truth you think me foolhardy.”

“Is there a difference?”

Elladan punched his twin’s arm hard enough to make him yelp. “A fine help you are,” he snorted. “I should not have told you.”

“I would have known nevertheless,” Elrohir said, rubbing his arm. “There is little you can keep from me or I from you.” He nodded in Glorfindel’s direction. “If he is what you desire, if ‘tis he who will make you happy, then I will help you even if I must hold my tongue to do so. Surely you know that.”

Elladan smiled. “I do,” he softly replied.

Elrohir regarded him with fondness. “I do not doubt that you will achieve your desire,” he said.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” After a pause, the Elf-knight lightly added: “What Elf with any sense can resist your considerable charms?”

“Glorfindel might,” the older twin sighed.

“Then he would not be of sound mind and you would have to be witless to desire him in that case!” Elrohir retorted.

Elladan laughed at his brother’s lively defense of his attractions. 

“I think Glorfindel should count himself fortunate that ‘tis I who has set my sights on him,” he said. “What _you_ would do to achieve your ends verily makes me shudder! He would likely need rescuing by the time you were half done with him. Provided he was still sentient enough to sound the alarm!”

******************  
Glossary:  
tuilë – Quenya for spring  
Edhel - Elf

_To be continued…_


	3. II.

_Cermië_ T.A. 1139  
“They are exquisite beyond measure. ‘Tis almost impossible to put into song.”

Glorfindel glanced sharply at Lindir. The steward was undoubtedly in the midst of attempting a musical composition in tribute to Elrond’s children. 

The three sat on the thick grass beneath a graceful beech in the garden, Elladan reclining with his head upon Arwen’s lap while Elrohir leaned against the tree, strumming a lute, the lovely strains of which his sister sung to with her deep melodious voice. Glorfindel and Lindir could hear the song from their position on the wide back porch of the house.

Aye, exquisite was indeed a most apt word for these beauteous heirs of Rivendell. Glorfindel knew Lindir had found inspiration in them often enough for his music. But he could not help wondering if more than mere admiration inspired the Last Homely House’s famous minstrel.

“They are comely enough,” he said tersely, sparing another swift ostensibly cursory glance at them.

Lindir laughed softly. “Ever the reticent warrior,” he remarked. “You know full well how ludicrous an understatement that is, Glorfindel.” When the captain simply shrugged, the steward shook his head and regarded the siblings anew. “Yet for all their fairness there is much lacking in their lives. ‘Tis cause for worry or so Celebrían says.”

Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. “What does she worry about?”

“What every mother does I imagine,” Lindir said. “Not a one of them has shown any sign of settling down. The twins have graced any number of beds between here and the Golden Wood and tumbled many a willing soul at the Havens. But they have chosen no one to rule their hearts thus far. And Arwen has accepted none of the suits laid at her feet though the Valar know she has had enough to pave the way to Gondor and back! Our lady fears her children are too alike to her and Elrond.”

“In what way?”

“That they were already avowed ere they were born and that if they do not gain what their hearts desire, they will simply do without. She could not wish such a fate for any of them when she has known such happiness with their father.”

Glorfindel noted the concern on Lindir’s face and considered the minstrel a tad more curiously. “You seem in agreement with her. Do you ... harbor any hopes in that regard?”

The question was delicately phrased but it took Lindir aback nonetheless. “Elbereth, no!” he exclaimed in some consternation. “That is as far from the mark as you could make it.” He frowned then pursed his lips. “If I share her concern ‘tis only because I wish naught for them but joy and fulfillment. In repayment for all that they have done for me.” 

At Glorfindel’s puzzled expression, he continued: “They are tender souls and loyal almost to a fault to those they love. They have succored me through many a crisis, tending to me whenever my heart was bruised or spirit assailed. And have you not heard how they rallied behind Erestor when his wife near died from her last birthing? Arwen sat by his lady’s side almost without surcease, lending her what strength she possessed, while the brethren scoured the countryside for the healing herbs needed to cure her, braving even Thranduil’s displeasure when they found what they sought in the deeps of Mirkwood.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows at that. “They are quite ... single-minded,” he commented.

Lindir chuckled ruefully. “Relentlessly so if it suits their purpose,” he agreed.

Glorfindel sighed. They were indeed relentless when it came to matters they desired. It must have something to do with all the cross-breeding that went into their making, he thought—Noldor, Sindar and Edain with a touch of Maiar. A most interesting mix indeed. And he had of late come up against the aforementioned relentless single-mindedness and been unable to avert or sidestep it. His eyes fell upon the disturber of his peace these past many years. 

As if he sensed the appraisal, Elladan turned his head on his sister’s lap and trained his pewter gaze on the golden-haired Elf. Glorfindel could not prevent the faint flush that tinged his cheeks when he came under that intense regard. That elicited a slow smile from the older twin. Cursing inwardly, Glorfindel quickly took his leave of Lindir and stalked back into the house.

How did he know? Glorfindel thought with bemusement. Elladan always seemed to sense when the captain was about or when he was looking at him. And the older of Elrond’s sons also always seemed to be there, whether his presence was needed or not. And if not, he had ways of ensuring that it would be needed or at least missed before long.

He was never overt about it however. Certainly not obvious enough for Glorfindel to take him to task without sounding like a churlish ingrate. He simply and subtly went about making life most pleasant for the older warrior to the extent that Glorfindel knew he would sorely miss the attention if it ceased.

Like the mead that always graced his morning meal in lieu of the more usual fruit nectar—that and the cinnamon cakes, honey rolls or nut pastries that would find their way to his office almost every afternoon. He had told no one of his preference for the former or fondness for the latter. Later, he learned that Elrond’s library harbored prodigious amounts of information on ancient Gondolin including the habits and customs of some of the city’s more illustrious inhabitants. 

It had shaken him to the core to find his name amongst these long-gone legends and the attendant stories about his personal life and military career. Even more disconcerting was the discovery that it was at Elladan’s behest that the Last Homely House’s kitchen turned out his favorites each day.

The older twin had gone through the trouble of learning all he could about the erstwhile Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

Which was why he knew enough to ensure that Asfaloth was provided with a bucket of pinhead oats three times a week. All of Glorfindel’s Gondolin-bred steeds had enjoyed this largesse in addition to their regular feed.

It was how the emblem of his ancient House had found its way onto the breastplate of his armor one day, been worked into the blade of his favorite sword another and embroidered into a gorgeous blue counterpane which was presented to him by the twins and Arwen the first time he’d agreed to celebrate his begetting day with the rest of the household.

It had not escaped his notice that the shade of blue of the sumptuous material perfectly matched the color of his eyes. And it had little surprised him when the Elf-smiths admitted to reforging his sword and adorning his armor at the brethren’s request. For though Arwen had supervised the sewing of the bedcover and the twins had approached the smiths together, it was Elladan who had selected the color of the material and designed the changes to both armor and sword.

There was also the matter of the selection of songs in the Hall of Fire whenever Glorfindel chose to grace a gathering with his presence, which was nearly every evening these days. Invariably, the minstrels would launch into pieces he enjoyed, many of them so obscure in this age it was astonishing they had been unearthed at all. 

Glorfindel had been moved to near tears the first time he heard the lilting melody of an old lullaby sung to the babes of the hidden city.

And then there was the painter’s easel that had appeared in his sitting room one evening along with a stack of canvas, a generous selection of brushes and paints, a thick leather-bound sketchbook and several pieces of tapered charcoal. It was not something readily known about him today—that he’d been as much an artist as a warrior even as far back as his days in the Blessed Realm. But Elladan had somehow gleaned the information from the Valar knew where. 

Galadriel mayhap? She was after all the only Noldorin Exile of note still in residence in these Hither Lands and she had known Glorfindel in Valinor. She was also Elladan’s grandam and a doting and oft devious one at that.

These and countless other gestures over the years had revealed to him the older twin’s unstinting regard. But beyond the usual teasing and occasional flirtations, many of these occasions exasperating to say the least, Elladan never spoke of it. And Glorfindel did not know whether to be frustrated or relieved by his prudence.

He had never made a single overture to any of Elrond’s children. There were enough willing Elves to warm his bed without him resorting to seducing his own lord’s progeny. But more than his intrinsic sense of honor and duty, it was also his fear of emotional involvement. For one could not in any way escape losing some part of one’s soul to the siblings once one entered into a relationship with any of them, no matter how fleeting or casual.

He could not deny he wanted Elladan. But he could not accept that there was more to it than mere wanting. Much as he sometimes longed to, he did not make any move. It would be up to Elladan to do so. 

Glorfindel suspected that not only did Elladan know this but that he was also biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment in which to do so. What unnerved the captain though he would never admit it was that the perfect moment would most likely find him at his most vulnerable.

When resistance would be at its lowest.

When he would not be able to say “no”.

* * * *

Elladan’s eyebrows rose in some surprise when he glimpsed the graceful figure exiting the quarters of Rivendell’s hallowed captain. Bronze of hair, doe-eyed and willowy, she was one of the valley’s long-time residents, the daughter of one of his father’s scriveners. She was lovely, though much too biddable for Elladan’s taste.

He had always favored strong-willed females. After all, he had a mother, sister and grandmother who had minds of their own and intelligent, decisive ones at that.

So, she had been Glorfindel’s bedmate for the night. Or two. Or a week. If she was fortunate, she might manage to engage his interest for a fortnight. 

To the best of Elladan’s knowledge, that was the utmost limit to Glorfindel’s patience and attention span insofar as bedplay was concerned. But he seriously doubted this one had gained the dubious privilege of a prolonged sojourn in the warrior’s bed. Else she would not have been shown the door so soon—it was not even midnight. Had she met Glorfindel’s expectations, she would have been invited to stay the whole night.

As she drew near, he slipped into a darkened recess. He stared at her through narrowed eyes as she passed him by. 

Was it his imagination or had Glorfindel foregone coupling with _ellyn_ for the last six years or so? He could not recall seeing any on intimate terms with the captain in all this time. He wondered why the Noldo seemed to have forsaken lovers of the masculine variety when he’d previously tended to favor them over Elf-women.

Not that it mattered what gender of Elf Glorfindel bedded. Elladan pursed his lips. 

Much as he denied it to Elrohir, it rankled. He did not relish encountering any of Glorfindel’s lovers however impermanent all these relationships proved. From the first, he had felt something different with the Balrog slayer. A sense of predestination. A connection to the golden warrior that ran deep. A foreknowledge that here was the one he’d been waiting for.

The one who owned him whether he wished it or no.

* * * *

Celebrían surreptitiously wiped a tear from her cheek. An arm curled around her slender shoulders and she looked into her husband’s concerned eyes.

“What troubles you, _seron vell_?”—beloved—he queried. “Why do you weep?”

“Nay, I do not weep,” Celebrían said with a small laugh. “I am merely being too sentimental for my own good.” 

She gestured toward their sons—the two were in the midst of a lively debate with some visiting Elves from the Havens and from the looks of it seemed likely to emerge the victors. “They will soon reach their first millennium of life and still I remember their infancies. Such sweet and trusting babes were they, _hervenn_ ”—husband—“I can scarce believe our sons to be those self-same infants!”

Elrond chuckled and pulled her closer. “Aye, our adorable innocents have grown into adorable rogues,” he remarked. “If one is to believe all the rumors of their dalliances down through the years. I wonder whence come their healthy appetites for such indelicate play?”

His teasing insinuation was not lost on his lady wife and she poked him in the side with a well-placed jab of her elbow. To their right, Erestor hid a grin while to their left Glorfindel looked from them to the twins then at the highly amused counsellor.

They were gathered in the Hall of Fire, as was their wont when guests were in residence. Songs had been rapturously sung and stories eloquently recited. But the usual quiet end to the evening had been derailed somewhat when the brethren chose to engage the visitors in a spate of discussions designed to spur indignation at the very least. It certainly made for raucous entertainment.

“Unfortunately, the rumors are not unfounded,” Erestor commented, his grin still in evidence. “Though I hear that Elladan has been inhibiting himself of late.” He looked at Celebrían with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “‘Tis bandied around the valley that he has set his heart in earnest on some fortunate soul.”

“That is welcome news!” Celebrían exclaimed in delight. “Who is this fair maid? Or is it a strapping Elf we should look for?”

Elrond groaned laughingly. “Peace, wife,” he implored. “Erestor said ‘tis but a tale that has not yet been proven. Or has it?” he asked pointedly of his chief advisor.

Erestor shook his head but his smile did not fade. “I have not been able to confirm the veracity of the story,” he admitted. “But it seems in keeping with his newfound chasteness. I would not be surprised if it is true. What say you, Glorfindel?”

The warrior started at the suddenness of the question directed at him. “I do not indulge in aimless gossip, Erestor,” he replied.

Erestor snorted. “Hardly aimless if its proving brings a smile to our lady’s lips,” he countered. “And try as you will, you cannot hide your interest in their affairs. You pay as much attention to their every word and deed as the kitchen scullions and parlor maids!”

Glorfindel flushed with embarrassment at being so summarily revealed. He stoically endured the others’ gentle laughter and forced himself to smile. But this was one occasion where his normally sunny smile did not quite reach his eyes or attain its usual radiance. Not when he’d been found out without his being aware of the fact. It was quite apparent that he’d not been as discreet as he’d believed himself to be.

After a decent while, he excused himself and left the hall. As was his habit when unsettled, he made his way to Elrond’s library.

He’d avoided the many books and scrolls pertaining to Gondolin at first. They recalled too many hurtful memories not least of which was his own fiery death. But as the years passed, he’d began to read them; his curiosity about what later scribes and scholars had to say about the city and its fate, both the glory and the fall, had outweighed the fear and pain of remembering. He chose not to dwell on the fact that it was Elladan’s pursuit of knowledge regarding his past that had spurred him in part.

This evening, he took down a thick tome that focused not on the history of the city, but rather on its citizens. He opened the book, swiftly turning the pages until he came to a brief recounting about one of the minor nobles of Turgon’s court. He read the passage as if he had not read it a thousand times before and as he read he felt his heart constrict with regret.

“Who was she?”

He caught his breath in shock, slammed the book shut and turned to face Elladan. The older twin was close behind him, half perched on the edge of his father’s writing desk. In the soft glow of the single oil lamp, his eyes seemed more silver than grey and piercingly so.

“She?” Glorfindel repeated with a frown. He could not believe he’d allowed himself to be so lost in what he was doing that he had not sensed Elladan’s approach.

“The damsel who so entranced you once upon a long ago time,” Elladan replied.

“What makes you think there was ever such a one?” Glorfindel countered.

“I was not certain,” Elladan admitted. “But by your evasion now, you have confirmed her existence.” 

He smiled faintly when Glorfindel’s eyes widened with perturbation. He reached for the book. After the slightest hesitation, Glorfindel handed it over with a shrug. Elladan opened it and swiftly found the page the captain had been perusing earlier. 

“It was easy enough to deduce that there was someone,” he softly said, his eyes scanning the passage. “You read this book with more frequency than any other and almost always the same page.” He gingerly indicated the now dog-eared corners of the page. “This Elf—it says he was a lesser noble of the court and that his wife was one of Idril Celebrindal’s ladies-in-waiting. And he had no sons, only daughters. Which of those fair maids won your heart, Glorfindel?”

There was no reply for the longest while and Elladan wondered if the warrior would refuse to answer him. And then Glorfindel sighed and murmured, “She was my oldest friend. We grew up together in Valinor—before the rebellion. She—perished when Gondolin fell. She was his youngest daughter.”

“What was her name?”

“I do not wish to say it.”

“But you loved her?”

Again, the captain hesitated briefly before responding with a slight nod. His face remained impassive. Almost alarmingly so. Elladan considered probing further but decided against it. 

Glorfindel’s face was a mask. When he looked just so was when he was in greatest emotional pain. This was not the time to open other wounds.

“She is why you hardly bedded any _ellith_ when you first returned,” he bluntly stated instead, diverting Glorfindel away from his memories. “Elf-maids only served to remind you of your loss.”

Again Glorfindel nodded. Elladan waited a moment then took a deep breath and a great chance. “But now ‘tis _ellyn_ you shun and females who share your bed. What _Edhel_ has upset your heart anew that you cannot bear to be reminded of him?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath; saw the sudden anger in the blue eyes. But he did not retreat. He had come here to learn some of the truth and, by Elbereth, he would get what he wanted.

“Have you been shadowing me?” Glorfindel hissed.

“Nay, but I have been observing you,” Elladan replied. “Like it or not, Glorfindel, I know you quite well. Perhaps even better than you know yourself.”

The captain’s eyes turned positively frosty. “You presume overmuch, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he snapped.

“And again you have confirmed my suspicion,” Elladan quietly said. When the anger in Glorfindel’s eyes faded to be replaced by dismay, he rose to his feet and stepped closer to the captain. “Who is he? Who is this worthy who lures you yet eludes you?”

He searched the captain’s eyes, hoping to find what he desired. At once Glorfindel averted his gaze and Elladan’s heart leapt within his breast. He placed a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder, kneading the tense muscles therein. 

“Simply tell him, Glorfindel,” he softly counselled. “Tell _me_.”

The older Elf recoiled in shock. How had Elladan come to read him so well? Even his silences gave the older twin the answers he sought. He stared at the young Peredhel, forcibly turning his stare into a glare.

“Do not expect anything from me, Elladan,” he declared. “You will only know disappointment for I am of no mind to form a liaison with either of Elrond’s sons.”

Elladan regarded him thoughtfully for a spell. And then he snorted and his lips curled into a cocky smirk. “Methinks you protest too much,” he said.

Before Glorfindel could so much as blink, Elladan snaked a hand behind his neck and pulled him close, sealing their mouths together, catching the warrior in surprise that he parted his lips in a gasp and thus invited an invasion of molten proportions. Almost as suddenly as he had initiated the kiss, Elladan pulled away, the motion so abrupt and unexpected that Glorfindel quite forgot to close his mouth. 

Elladan studied his flushed countenance; noted his breathlessness in the absence of any hard physical exertion.

“You want me as much as I want you,” he told a stunned Glorfindel. “And all you need do is cease your resistance and take what you desire. I will withhold nothing from you.” With that, he turned and strode to the door. Just before leaving the chamber, he glanced over his shoulder at the still dazed warrior. His eyes softened and his mouth gentled into a smile. “Good night, my captain.”

And then he was gone.

Glorfindel leaned against the bookcase, direly in need of the support its solid panels offered. Elladan had taken him completely unawares. Had made that vital move. 

The captain groaned to himself. If that was but his version of an overture, he could only imagine what the actual concerto would be like. And the Valar help him, he knew he would indeed do as Elladan had bid. He would not be able to resist. The thought had the power to induce panic in him as a pack of snarling Wargs could not.

He had once fallen head over heels in love and lived to know its loss. His death had spared him the full impact of living with the immediate consequences of that loss; had numbed some of the pain that, upon rebirth, he had learned to move on and live his life anew. But he had not truly come to terms with it, neither the emptiness in his heart nor the wherewithal to risk it in love again. 

Now he was faced with an all-consuming passion, one that felt perilously similar to that other love. In fact, so similar that one might say they were as identical as Elrond’s sons.

Did he dare venture his heart once more? More to the point, could he?

******************  
Glossary:  
Cermië – Quenya for July  
ellyn – male Elves  
ellith – Elf-maids  
Edhel - Elf

_To be continued…_


	4. III.

_Yavannië_ T.A. 1139  
In calling attention to the attraction that simmered between them, Elladan effectively made it impossible for Glorfindel to ignore it, much less pretend that it did not exist. 

The fair-haired Elf noted with equal parts wonder and dismay that he had become more acutely aware of the older twin than ever before. His dulcet voice, his singular scent, his confident stride. Even the way he dressed for the day or the manner in which he bound his hair.

Worse, he could not forget the touch of his fingers upon his nape or the taste of his lips. Nor could he banish the mounting urge to know both touch and taste again. Not even in the depths of the nights when he sought relief in some eager withy body. 

He had taken to bedding _ellyn_ once more right after their encounter in the library. He did so in a deliberate effort to eliminate or at the very least reduce the yearning said encounter had stoked. To no avail of course. Not when the following day brought him into close contact with the very reason for his resumption of these affairs. 

For how could any other form however fair adequately replace the irreplaceable? He ceased all couplings thence and steeped himself in celibacy. Random rutting with random partners only compelled him to compare them with Elrond’s son and invariably find them wanting. Chastity did not ease the unrelenting need but it did not further whet it either. 

_…take what you desire. I will withhold nothing from you._

The words echoed repeatedly in the warrior’s head. A promise from one whose word was more binding than a compact signed in blood. 

Glorfindel sighed and pushed himself away from the stout pillar against which he was leaning. 

He had taken a respite from the incessant talk and sometimes much too personal probing into his life. Really, some Elves did not know when enough was enough, he’d griped when he’d earlier escaped the clutches of a particularly ardent Elf of Gildor Inglorion’s acquaintance. 

It was the brethren’s thousandth begetting day. Had the decision been left to them, neither twin would have chosen to mark it in any special manner. Elrond’s sons were by and large not given to elaborate celebrations of any sort. Nor did they favor large gatherings where half the guests did not quite know each other and the chances of spending time with loved or favored ones were severely limited. 

But Elrond and Celebrían would not be gainsaid. They adored their children and took every opportunity to express their pride in their handsome progeny. Celebrating the twins’ first millennium was enough of an excuse to do so and invitations had gone out to the elven realms of the Golden Wood, Lindon and even reclusive Mirkwood. 

None had refused, not even Thranduil. One did not lightly turn down a request from the Lord of Rivendell.

They thronged the main hall of the Last Homely House this eve. Wine and ale flowed freely while servants went about with laden platters of the finest delicacies the kitchens could produce. 

In one thing the twins had prevailed. This was no stilted formal dinner where one had to observe protocol and be on one’s best behavior. Instead, everyone was free to move around as they wished, speak with whomever they desired or leave whenever they wearied of the festivities or company or both. It had the desired effect of ensuring that no one would be burdened for long by the attentions of the inevitable bores in their midst.

Glorfindel let his eyes sweep the great hall, absently taking note of who was still present and who had since slipped away for the night. 

On one side of the hall, Círdan debated some matter of historical import with Erestor, their enthralled audience listening avidly to every cogent argument and riposte. Nearby, Lindir seemed to be in the midst of composing a new song with the aid of a beauteous warbler from Greenwood. 

Further on, Arwen mischievously set two would-be suitors from Mithlond against each other, aided and abetted by some Lórien gallants who knew better than to woo Elrond’s only daughter when she was in so perilous a mood. Galadriel watched her granddaughter indulgently while occasionally taking part in a slightly heated discussion between Celeborn and his kinsman Thranduil to whom he had not spoken in person since the close of the Second Age. Glorfindel guessed it was about the stronghold of Dol Guldur that was slowly poisoning the southern reaches of Mirkwood. 

Thranduil’s queen was nowhere in evidence and Glorfindel assumed she had retired for the night. No surprise there since she was heavy with child yet again. He could not recall seeing her when she was not breeding. Elrond had once remarked that Thranduil seemed bent on besting Fëanor’s seven-strong brood. 

Glorfindel quietly made his way back into the thick of things, a practiced smile already curling his lips. Almost as soon as he made his reappearance, he was importuned by a bevy of hopeful admirers. Keeping his smile firmly in place, he entertained and fended off as the need arose. But almost of their own volition, his eyes roamed, seeking one figure above the rest.

He spotted Elrohir first where the younger twin held court, surrounded by besotted maids and males alike. Glorfindel’s smile warmed up considerably. He liked Elrohir. 

The younger warrior was forthright, outgoing and sure-aimed in more than his martial skills. With Elrohir, there was no fear of subterfuge unless he was undertaking some exercise in espionage. This was particularly true when it came to affairs of the heart regardless of their depth or duration. 

If he desired someone, he did not conceal that desire for too long and certainly not from the one he desired. He was by no means guileless or unwary but neither was he one to bide his time overlong in the pursuit of what he wanted. When Elrohir sought something, he did nothing by halves and cared little for what others might think about him or his way of achieving his goal. But neither did he abide a lengthy, mayhap fruitless wait and would promptly abandon his prey in favor of someone more receptive. 

That this more oft than not precipitated capitulation on the part of the once sought-after Elf was not a surprising consequence of such tactics but Elrohir did not care to indulge in multiple trysts at any one given time and so there was always a scorned soul left in these tangled triangles’ wakes. But exceedingly rare was the _Edhel_ who could resist the Elf-knight’s charms in the first place and therefore, thankfully, such woeful denouements were few and far in between.

In this Elladan was nothing like his brother. For all his forcefulness and occasional cocky demeanor when engaged in sport or battle, the older twin was in point of fact far more circumspect in his personal dealings. Less confident of his aim, he was inclined to hold his tongue and stay his hand. He was reserved without being shy, cautious but not timid, mindful of others’ opinions but not ruled by them. His patience was near boundless, his tolerance greater than most. 

He was the quieter, gentler twin and was sometimes mistaken for the younger by those who could not tell the brethren apart. Yet, he could be as relentless and perversely stubborn as his brother when he set his mind to something. 

The main difference in their comportment was that Elrohir had few qualms about letting his desires be known though he seldom brooked interference. Elladan, on the other hand, kept his yearnings to himself and did not readily confide in anyone save for his twin. The objects of his desire were likely to find themselves bedded before he informed them of his prior need. When he did, it was apt to leave his conquest in a heady swoon that the older twin had deigned to admit it at all.

Glorfindel knew the feeling all too well. 

Elladan had all but blindsided him. It had been a maneuver worthy of the canniest generals in elven history. Where an earlier plainspoken declaration might have given the captain time and space to guard himself, this stealthy, protracted approach had rendered him not only virtually defenseless but also reluctantly yet inexorably open to Elladan’s smoldering overture.

Deftly disengaging himself from a persistent woodland Elf-lady, Glorfindel searched the hall for the older twin without truly being conscious of doing so. It had become second nature to him to look for Elladan as soon as he came to a place where the other was likely to be. When he caught himself doing this, he would chide himself for it. But of late, he had become less and less cognizant of this particular habit. 

He frowned. The twin was not in the hall. There was no way he could have missed that tall, lissome figure equalled only by one other. The brethren towered above almost everyone else save for their grandparents and father and Glorfindel himself. He wondered where Elladan had taken himself. On the heels of this question came the thought that perhaps he had left with someone for the night to celebrate the occasion and what remained of the day in the privacy of a bedchamber. 

Jealousy lanced through him unbidden and he found himself breathing as if winded from a long race. He tried to collect himself, aware that his cheeks felt warmer than usual. Striving to school his riotous emotions, he sought to distract himself with whatever entertainment was at hand. But in surveying the hall in search of that distraction, he looked once more in Elrohir’s direction and, as he did, the younger twin returned his gaze and their eyes met across the great space.

It dawned on him that the wily Elf-knight had been observing him for a spell. This was evident in the knowing grin Elrohir threw him. Glorfindel felt his cheeks grow even warmer. 

Elrohir’s grin gentled and, to Glorfindel’s astonishment, he gestured with an infinitesimal nod of his head toward the arched doors that opened onto the gardens behind the house. The captain blushed further and he hastened out of the hall before anyone should see and misconstrue it for unseemly indulgence in drink. 

Watching him go, Elrohir swallowed a chuckle and silently applauded his brother’s subtle, maddening and apparently highly efficacious courtship of Rivendell’s elusive Balrog slayer.

* * * *

He located Elladan almost at once. Some inner voice guided him to where the twin stood beneath a graceful beech. His supple frame rested against the sturdy trunk, his arms were folded across his chest and his head was bowed as if he was lost in some ponderous thought. He was a vision of unparalleled beauty—neither wholly elven nor mortal but a spellbinding fusion of the best of both races.

He and Elrohir had dressed differently this night, choosing not to mirror each other but to play opposites for a change, much to many a guest’s relief. Where Elrohir had clad himself in darker shades and bound his hair in a thick single plait, Elladan had opted for pale hues and minimal restraint of his flowing tresses. 

Both had donned the silver circlets of their princely stations and girded their waists with jeweled belts from which hung sheathed ornamental swords, heirlooms of their illustrious clan from beyond the sea. Neither had consented to the long heavy robes oft worn for such occasions but insisted on court tunics masterfully embroidered in gold and silver purl. 

That such dress served to call further attention to the very things that drew eyes to their wondrous forms was not lost on Glorfindel. It was for that same reason that he usually preferred to array himself as the twins had this evening. A veteran wooer of others’ favors did not hide that which won those favors after all. Glorfindel was no cad who ruthlessly pursued without regard for the sentiments or fears of his potential companions, but neither was he averse to using what enticements he possessed to full advantage. 

He neared Elladan slowly, watching for the moment when the twin would sense his presence and look up. And indeed, Elladan lifted his head in time to see Glorfindel come to stand before him.

“You always know,” the warrior softly remarked. 

Elladan smiled. “I don’t fight it,” he replied. At Glorfindel’s slight frown of puzzlement, he added, “The bond between us. You feel it, too, though you try to block it.” 

The captain’s sharp intake of breath told him his aim had been true and his smile waned somewhat. He regarded Glorfindel with pensive eyes. 

“What frightens you so?” he softly queried. “If I could spare you whatever it is that you fear, I would do it.”

Glorfindel turned a skeptical gaze on him. “Even to the extent of leaving me alone?” he challenged. 

Elladan returned the gaze unflinchingly. “Except that,” he calmly said. “That would only do me—and you—a great disservice.” 

He dropped his arms and stepped up to the captain, smirked when Glorfindel tensed. No doubt he was recalling the encounter in the library where just such a step had preceded their first kiss. But he did not move away from Elladan despite his wariness. That was telling in itself.

“Why did you come after me?” Elladan inquired though he did not really expect the warrior to admit it.

Glorfindel’s first impulse was to deny this charge. And so he was as surprised as Elladan when he bluntly said, “I do not know.”

Elladan stared at him in some incredulity. Glorfindel bristled a little that he should be surprised at his response. But then Elladan smiled with such breathtaking sweetness he quite forgot what it was that had raised his ire.

“Mayhap you missed my inimitable attention,” Elladan teased.

Again his aim proved sure and Glorfindel sighed and said, “Mayhap.” He mildly glared at the younger warrior. “Are you trying to prove your contention true? That you know me even better than I know myself?” 

Elladan chuckled and shook his head. “I said perhaps I do,” he corrected. “You are still a mystery to me, Glorfindel, in so many ways. If I could have only one of my two dearest wishes granted me this day, it would be that you allow me to know you better.”

“I suggest you pin your hopes on your other wish then,” Glorfindel wryly counselled him. “It will most likely be the easier to grant.”

Elladan’s eyes suddenly glittered in the moonlight. “You may not think so once you have heard it,” he murmured.

Glorfindel studied him cautiously. A moment later, he raised an amused eyebrow. “You are a glutton for disappointment, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he mocked. “Why must you persist in yearning for the impossible? I thought you knew enough about me to desist from feeding that desire.”

He awaited a witty riposte from his companion; Elladan was usually quick with his pointed rejoinders. But to his surprise, the twin’s eyes darkened with hurt instead. 

“Knowing does not always stop the longing. You know that as well as I do,” he quietly answered. “Good night, Glorfindel.”

Perhaps it was the candid sadness that played out across Elladan’s expressive features. Or the pained hitch in his voice as he bade Glorfindel good night. Or simply guilt at causing him hurt on what was after all a special day for him. Or perhaps it was all these reasons and more. 

Whatever the answer, it compelled Glorfindel to stop the twin from leaving and gently turn him around to face him.

“I am sorry,” he sincerely said. “That was uncalled for and most undeserved by one as valorous and gallant as you.”

Elladan studied him for the space of a few heartbeats. When Glorfindel said his name with some concern, he lifted a hand and pressed his fingers against the captain’s lips to forestall him.

“Your words warm my heart,” he murmured. “But in all honesty I would rather warm your bed.” 

Before Glorfindel could react, he replaced his fingers with his lips. The contact was electrifying though Elladan kept it light and tender and brief. When he pulled away, the effect on the captain was no different from what he had experienced during their first kiss. 

He stared at Elladan in resigned acceptance of an implacable truth. A bond had been forged between them at first sight. What that bond entailed, Glorfindel did not dare examine just yet. But he knew it was useless to deny it any longer and that the delay in the consummation of it only served to tighten its hold over him. Over both of them. 

One oft hungered for what one could not taste. Once glutted the hunger would very likely abate or even vanish altogether.

He held out his hand. “Come,” he simply said.

Elladan looked keenly at him then took the proffered hand and followed Glorfindel back into the house. Back to the captain’s quarters.

* * * *

There was no initial coyness between them. No need for the usual overtures to soothe any nervousness or uncertainly. Almost as soon as they were through the door, they came together in a kiss far more blistering than their first.

It was not to be expected that either would easily take the submissive role for both mastered others and were not given to being themselves mastered. But Elladan surprised Glorfindel once more and did, melting into the warrior’s fierce embrace, yielding to his plundering kiss. It spoke volumes of the price he was willing to pay for the privilege of sharing the fair-haired Elda’s bed.

His acquiescence sent shockwaves of desire coursing through Glorfindel’s body. 

There were few more splendid specimens of masculine beauty in Arda than the brethren. The mix of heritages that had gone into their making gave them an allure and comeliness that was of such potency as to make it difficult not to gawk at them, much less ignore them. Even more trying was forgetting the pleasures of intimate relations with either twin once one supped of their graces. 

To master one who owned no master was an experience only a fool or coward would forego and Glorfindel was neither. He swiftly stripped Elladan, plying lips and tongue and teeth on firm flesh as it was bared, marking sun-kissed skin as he followed the downward path of discarded clothing, sharply aware of the hard column of flesh that so spectacularly bespoke the Peredhil males’ much vaunted virility.

By Elbereth, he would own Elladan this night and so thoroughly the older twin would still feel his undoing come morn and beyond. 

In one fluid motion of twist and shove he had Elladan flat on his back on the bed. His sapphire gaze stabbed at Elladan, pinning him down as efficiently as any physical restraint. His eyes never leaving Elladan’s ravishing form, he shed his own clothing. And then he stood there, daring his imminent lover to look him over as brazenly as he had viewed Elladan earlier.

And the Peredhel did. Silver grey eyes raked his frame not only with lust but also curiosity. And avid appreciation. 

Glorfindel smirked when that gaze lingered awhile on the formidable shaft that rose between his legs, a shaft that already looked quite primed for a whole night’s worth of breaching. A soft intake of breath and Elladan was darting a look at his face, his eyes widening just that tiniest bit with—what?—apprehension? Glorfindel’s smirk deepened to an outright predatory smile. 

He slipped onto the bed and crawled up the length of Elladan’s body in the deliberate manner of a panther stalking its fallen prey. He looked down at the twin and thought that, of all the spoils of battle he’d ever possessed, this would be the greatest prize of all.

“I hope you don’t regret what you wished for, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—he cooed. His eyes gleamed as he noted the barely discernible shiver that rippled along Elladan’s shoulders. 

No more words—no more coherent words—flowed between them as he bent to the pleasant chore of getting to know his companion’s delectable charms. Ah, Valar! Pleasant was a monumental understatement, he decided as Elladan came alive under his touch. 

The older twin kept his word. He withheld nothing. 

For one who had been born and raised to lead, yea, even to rule, to submit to conquest was unthinkable. But Elladan submitted. 

Not meekly, no. He was not a greenling in the bed-arts by any stretch of the imagination. But he did as Glorfindel bid. Lying still for the warrior’s leisurely partaking of his favors, suppressing the impulse to dictate the pace, biting back any protest that sprang to his lips when what was demanded of him went beyond what his warrior’s pride found endurable. Only his eyes blazed with defiance, telling Glorfindel what he truly thought of being in this subservient role. 

Because that was what Glorfindel wanted of him this night. To spread himself for him not as a humbled captive soldier-prince, but as one who would maintain his boldness before the enemy even in the face of certain defeat. For what could be more arousing to an elven captain gifted with Glorfindel’s legendary prowess than the prospect of besting a seasoned warrior and a fellow _ellon_ at that?

A warrior of experience could take rough, bruising kisses to mouth and throat without flinching in alarm. Could endure the harsh suckling or sharp nipping of tender nipple and the softer flesh of belly and groin, hard enough to leave flagrant scarlet marks, with scarcely a wince and indeed buck up for more. Could understand the bloodlust that drove a battle-hardened soldier to dominate, to prove one’s mettle, to win against all odds. 

Transferred to the bedchamber, that drive made for some of the most incendiary carnal encounters imaginable. It was this dynamic that could make the coupling of warriors so mercilessly addictive that souls of a particular bent, and they were far from few, found the gentler ministrations of non-combatants almost insipid to say the least. 

The abrupt engulfment of his shaft by rapacious lips tore a loud groan from Elladan. Glorfindel smiled around his mouthful of luscious flesh at this evidence of the twin’s unraveling despite his efforts to withstand the captain’s onslaught. He felt the slightest lift of Elladan’s hips and swiftly grasped them and held them down. At once Elladan went still though a quick glance at his face revealed the Peredhel glaring at him with a mixture of frustration and umbrage.

Glorfindel met that gaze and held it by the sheer force of his iron will, compelling Elladan to witness the pillaging of his own body. It proved too much even for one of the older twin’s forbearance. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as completion took him with storm force. He spent himself fulsomely, barely suppressing a cry as Glorfindel greedily milked him of every last drop of his seed.

As the older warrior crept over him once more, forcing his legs apart that he might slide between them, Elladan crossed his arms before him in an instinctive gesture of defense. The motion stirred Glorfindel’s blood to boiling though in a distinctly sensual way. He caught the twin’s wrists and forced them to either side of his head, trapping them against the pillows. Elladan’s eyes snapped open and he boldly stared once more at Glorfindel. 

Tucking his tongue into his cheek, the captain grinned wolfishly. “You are proving everything I have ever heard extolled about your graces,” he remarked. “‘Tis a pity that I will not have the opportunity to know your steel as well as your silk.”

Elladan lifted his chin defiantly. “You may yet know it,” he retorted.

Glorfindel’s eyes hardened. “I think not,” he countered, his voice as smooth as butter and lethal as hemlock. 

A nudge against the inside of Elladan’s thigh told the twin what was expected of him. For the barest instant, something flickered in the pewter pools, causing them to falter in their otherwise steadfast gaze. Glorfindel wondered at that. So had Elladan looked when he first cast his eyes upon the captain’s naked form. 

“Has it been a while?” he inquired, his tone gentling a shade. Expecting some response of concurrence, he was taken aback when Elladan broke eye contact and turned his face away, cheeks suddenly flaming. Glorfindel swore under his breath. “Surely, you cannot be untried!” he exclaimed.

Elladan jerked his eyes back to him. “I was not raised to play the sheath!” he ground out. He glared at Glorfindel, daring him to make something of his admission.

“Until now,” the warrior tersely commented. “So…think yourself Elf enough to take it?”

“As well as I give it,” Elladan snapped back. 

“Indeed.” At the very thought of breaking in this stubborn, glorious soldier-lord, Glorfindel felt his shaft stiffen and thicken to an adamantine hardness he hadn’t previously thought possible. “Brave words,” he murmured. 

Releasing Elladan’s wrists, he moved a hand between them. Keeping his eyes on Elladan’s face, he slipped it lower to test the Peredhel’s resolve. A second later, the twin hissed then bit his lip. 

Glorfindel continued to probe, adding another finger when Elladan’s initial tension subsided and finally a third. He thoughtfully regarded the twin then nodded and withdrew his hand. Under the other’s wary gaze, he wordlessly smeared the whole of his eager length with the burgeoning cream of his own seed. Done with that, he slid a hand under Elladan’s hips. 

“Up, _pen neth_ ,” he quietly commanded. “Let us see what you are made of.”

Again, a hint of consternation shadowed Elladan’s eyes but with staunch determination, he obeyed. Glorfindel smiled as long limber legs snaked around his waist and an admirably well-shaped backside pressed against his groin. He leaned over Elladan, his hands gripping the twin’s slim hips. 

Mindful of Elladan’s comfort despite the latter’s refusal to entreat him for gentler usage, he made his entry slowly. Inch by excruciating inch. 

“One,” he whispered, watching Elladan’s face for signs of pain. The slightest frown appeared but no more. Very well. He eased in a little further. 

“Two.” He smiled slightly when, in the wake of a faint wince, Elladan gaped at him upon realizing he was counting out the number of inches of rigid flesh the twin would need to accommodate.

“Three.” A sharp intake of breath told him Elladan’s discomfort was steadily increasing. Well, that was no surprise. Even the most practiced of his partners oft needed time to adjust to his intimidating girth and length.

“Four.” He noticed how the twin’s fingers dug into the snowy sheet beneath him then curled into fists. Still Elladan did not balk but continued to meet his eyes.

“Five.” He could no longer remain oblivious to the moist warmth, velvet softness and astonishing tightness that surrounded his shaft. The temptation to simply drive in all the way was almost too strong to resist. But the signs of pain in Elladan’s features stayed him just that while longer.

“Six.” A gasp broke from the twin followed by a grudging whimper. The grey eyes were brittle with the sting and burn within him. Glorfindel felt his own patience rapidly wane as he was further gloved in incredible silken heat. 

“Seven.” Stifling a pained moan, Elladan finally gave up the battle to keep his eyes open. His breathing turned uneven as he struggled to unclench his resisting muscles and allow Glorfindel further passage without causing himself more discomfort.

“Eight.” Glorfindel fought to steady his own breathing. Elladan had thrown his head back slightly and the sight of his sleek throat arched and stretched was a veritable feast for the eyes. He bent down to nibble at the pulsing vein at its base, fetching a muffled groan as he did.

“Nine!” This last was gasped out against Elladan’s neck as, no longer able to hold himself back, he drove in all the way until he was completely sheathed. Elladan’s strangled cry pierced his daze and he stopped all movement. 

Panting hard, he focused on Elladan’s pinched features. “Elladan,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

Elladan opened his eyes and gazed at him. With an effort, he forced a small smile and whispered, “You are a veritable bull. I never would have thought it of one as stately as you.”

Glorfindel’s huffed a chuckle at his indomitable spirit. And then he let his gaze sweep Elladan’s form once more all the way to his face. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured. 

He closed his lips upon Elladan’s mouth. In the same moment, he shifted his hips. Once. Twice. He swallowed the twin’s surprised gasp. Moved again and felt Elladan’s shaft stir, lengthen and jab against his belly. 

Drawing back, he gripped Elladan’s hips more firmly and, his patience at an end, began to thrust into him. Slow, deep, driving thrusts that sent thrills of purest pleasure coursing through both of them. Elladan’s eyes had widened with relief at that first spark of blissful sensation. Now they narrowed as he pushed back in active pursuit of pleasure, his powerful legs locking fiercely around Glorfindel with each inward stroke of the warrior’s shaft, drawing him even further into his body with every plunge. 

Glorfindel groaned at the heady entrapment of his engorged flesh. But he was not the least bit surprised. He had never expected Elladan to be a passive partner. Even his earlier submissive demeanor had been born of an active decision to behave thusly. To play the part for the sake of the pleasure to come. 

Their movements became less rhythmic, began to quicken and roughen. As they neared the peak of their coupling, their breathing became ragged, their heartbeats grew frantic and a fine sheen of moisture turned their skin so slick that they slid against each other with greater ease. 

With a supreme effort, Glorfindel tore himself out of his pleasurable haze and reached between them to stroke Elladan’s upraised shaft. The wild gasps this wrung from the twin evinced the latter’s closeness to completion. 

Elladan broke first, sobbing out his surrender to the unremitting waves of ecstasy that washed over him with pounding force. The pearlescent cream of his climax splashed over Glorfindel’s fist and dappled their bellies. His contracting muscles clenched hard around the captain’s embedded length. Glorfindel felt his control slip completely away. 

With a hoarse cry, he gave in to the floodgates of his own pleasure, spilling gush after gush of hot white seed into the willing body beneath him. 

They collapsed together, Glorfindel just marshalling enough presence of mind to roll them on their sides so as not to smother Elladan under his body, pulling the twin against him so that he could rest his head on the warrior’s shoulder. It was several minutes before either could speak. 

Glorfindel came out of his reverie first. “Do you regret your wish now?” he murmured.

Elladan softly laughed then lifted his head. “I would not be much of an Elf if I did, ” he pointed out. “Not that I am a full Elf,” he amended.

Glorfindel snorted. “Oh, you’ll do,” he drawled.

Elladan raised an eyebrow at that. “I’ll do?” he said with some acerbity. “Well then, I might as well leave you to find someone who will live up to your exacting standards.”

He made to rise but was promptly hauled back and flipped onto his belly. Catching his breath, he looked over his shoulder just as Glorfindel trapped him beneath his body. Warm breath brushed against his ear. He shivered as a tongue licked its way to a delicate peak.

“I was referring to the degree of your elvishness,” the captain pointed out. “Otherwise, you have more than impressed me. Furthermore,” he murmured, nibbling at the sensitive flesh, eliciting a cross between a yelp and a moan from his captive lover, “I promised myself that you would not be able to sit a horse for a day or so. I do not make promises lightly.”

Elladan’s groan of pleasure as he was once more filled to the brim was all Glorfindel could ask for and more.

*****************  
Glossary:  
Yavannië – Quenya for September  
ellyn – male Elves (sing. ellon)  
Edhel - Elf

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first posted this chapter some time back, Glorfindel's formidable endowment took some readers aback; they expressed doubts that it was possible. I know, the average length when a man is at full mast so to speak is around six inches. It can be longer (as they say, hung like a horse), but admittedly that's uncommon. However, the Elves are described as being exceedingly tall and Glorfindel was probably impressive height-wise even for an Elf. So I figured he could be impressive length-wise down yonder as well. In any case, this is fantasy and involves fantastical beings, so—why not? ;D


	5. IV.

_Tuilë_ T.A. 1630  
“I marvel at your patience, brother,” Elrohir murmured as he dismounted. His glance shifted from his twin to the golden-haired Elf who captained their troop. “‘Tis been nigh five hundred years and still you linger at the crossroads. When will you weary of waiting?”

Shaking his head, Elladan took his pack down from his steed before replying. “If needs be, another five hundred years. He contents me enough.”

The Elf-knight regarded his brother with a mixture of affection and exasperation. “Aye, he contents you,” he agreed. “You have touched no other since that night. But you cannot say the same of him for he has hardly kept himself exclusive to you. How can you stand for that, Elladan? I would not.”

Elldan sighed. The issue at hand was not new. He and Elrohir had debated it periodically over the last five centuries. The younger twin had not reconciled himself to the nature of his brother’s relationship with Rivendell’s captain, oft pointing out that one could only apply the term in the loosest sense.

“I content him, Elrohir,” he said patiently, knowing the other would not be able to accept his explanation now anymore than he had in all the years that had passed. “Else I would have ceased to share his bed long ago. If he turns to others on occasion, ‘tis not because there is something lacking in what I give him but because he fears that there is nothing he can find wanting when he is with me.” 

Ignoring Elrohir’s skeptical snort, he took his twin’s arm and tugged him along. “‘Tis not that he cannot love me; ‘tis that he once loved and he can only recall the pain it wrought him. When the shields around his heart begin to fall is when he is most afraid and thus tries to run from me. To keep himself safe.”

It was Elrohir’s turn to sigh. “I wish I could be as confident about his intentions as you, _gwaniuar_ ”—older twin—he said. “Fearsome though you are in battle, in truth you are a tender heart and I do not care to see you hurt or embittered.” 

He placed a hand on his twin’s shoulder, momentarily stopping him. “I do not think ill of Glorfindel; a damaged soul oft does not recognize its folly. But I heartily wish that he would face whatever it is that keeps him from accepting that ‘tis futile to fight his heart’s desire.”

Elladan said no more but only nodded and walked on. The brethren joined the rest of the troop. They were out on patrol on the easternmost bounds of what constituted Rivendell’s area of responsibility. Within a day’s ride of the Misty Mountains.

So many events had unfolded in the past several centuries. Events that had led to the necessity of constant watchfulness and oftentimes active defense of the valley realm and its surrounding communities. 

The three kingdoms of divided Arnor had diminished alarmingly—Rhudaur fallen into evil hands, Cardolan ravaged by invasion and Arthedain under constant siege. In the south, Gondor had long been riven by kinstrife and civil war then further plagued by war upon its southern borders. Peoples of all races—Men, Dwarves and a strange little folk who called themselves Hobbits—moved restlessly across the land, seeking safer territory if there was any to be had. And the foul abominations that were the Witch-king of Angmar, the Nazgûl and their thralls continued their encroachment upon the holdings of the Dúnedain of the North.

The Elves had given aid when and where possible even as they withstood a spate of incursions into their own lands. Rivendell had been besieged at one point though the Imladrin Elves swiftly repelled the invaders and secured their valley realm once more. But the Firstborn’s numbers were much diminished even amongst Mirkwood’s Silvan populace and Lindon’s sea-faring folk. 

Gathered together, they were still a force to contend with—the combined might of Rivendell, Lindon and Lothlórien subdued Angmar for a time and the north had a spell of quiet if not outright peace—but they also knew that, unless the Men of the north united and joined with them, even the Elves’ strength would not be enough to wholly defeat the evil of Angmar. And so they increased their vigilance and extended the boundaries of the lands they swore to protect.

Perhaps the elven realms most oft drawn into the conflicts of their mortal neighbors were Rivendell and Mirkwood due to their central locations relative to the sources of said conflict. Both had more than their fair share of encounters with marauding orcs and human brigands whose boldness grew as the might of the northern kingdoms waned and the power of Angmar continued to wax.

Raids by a large band of outlaws on hapless villages and hamlets to the north of Imladris had necessitated Elrond’s intervention. Hence the troop of Elven warriors that had hastened forth to the humans’ aid. The Elves had tracked the band, hunted the ruffians down and finally engaged them in a brutal fight just a few leagues from where the Elves were now encamped. 

No brigand had survived the melee. The Elves preferred to spare life whenever possible but these hardened men had fought back with vicious fervor, refusing to be taken alive.

Their task done, the Elves then took a circuitous route back to Rivendell for Glorfindel wanted to ascertain the presence of miscreant activity, or lack thereof, in the surrounding region. Better to delay their return and safeguard the area than to head for home in haste only to be summoned anew soon after.

When evening fell on their last day on patrol, the captain gave orders to set up camp in a small glade out of sight of the narrow road oft used by travellers in these remote parts. Morning would see them at last on their way back to the valley. 

Sentries took up their positions for the night while the rest gathered around the fires in quiet conversation or in readiness for repose. Glorfindel, however, settled himself beneath the eaves of a great tree, keeping to himself as was his wont when deep in thought.

Elladan watched his lover, waiting out the warrior’s pensive mood. He had come to recognize these moments when Glorfindel would brook no interruptions to his musings, not even from the older twin. 

He sometimes wondered what melancholic thoughts troubled the warrior at these times but Glorfindel kept these to himself with fierce secrecy. There had been no small number of altercations in the past over this and Elladan had decided that he would rather await Glorfindel’s willing revelations than have to pry them out of the captain piecemeal to the strains of a rancorous exchange.

At length, Glorfindel lifted his head and met Elladan’s gaze. His crystalline eyes glittered in the dim light. He tilted his head in the direction of a thicket some distance behind the brethren’s position. Elladan gave a slight nod, then looked at his twin in silent entreaty. 

Elrohir simply murmured, “Go. You will not be disturbed.”

Elladan gave a slight squeeze to his brother’s hand then rose and slipped away without a sound. Elrohir did not watch him leave but only spared a quick glance at Glorfindel. The captain was already gone. 

The Elf-knight shook his head and set himself to guarding their privacy. It would be a while before the others noticed their absence.

* * * *

Elladan gasped as he was summarily breached, Glorfindel’s rigid flesh spearing him to the hilt. He steadied himself on his elbows and knees, bracing his body for the onslaught that was to follow.

It came swiftly, the spate of deep, driving thrusts that never failed to set him on the path to blissful completion. He clenched his fists, gripping the thick wool of the cloak beneath him, and concentrated as well as he could on pushing back against Glorfindel, further heightening their shared pleasure.

It was almost always thus between them when they coupled. Wild and rough and eminently satisfying. This was not to say that they did not engage in gentler joinings or that such occasions were less passionate. But given a choice they tended to favor more elemental love-play. It simply was their nature.

He felt Glorfindel’s powerful hand push his hair aside, baring the back of his neck, then reach down to curl over his left fist, compelling him to unclench it. The captain’s long fingers wove with his own, an intimate gesture that Elladan had long discovered was reserved for him and him alone. Indeed, there were many such gestures that Glorfindel bestowed only on him. Evidence of the warrior’s singular regard even if he did not say it or for that matter define the nature or depth of it.

He smothered a cry when he felt himself cupped and fondled then stroked, each firm caress accompanied by a hard thrust. It swiftly brought him to the brink of completion. He tightened his hold on Glorfindel’s hand, felt the reciprocal squeeze of his. 

Warm lips pressed against his nape and the side of his throat then wandered down to the crook of his neck. He hissed when Glorfindel sucked his skin hard enough to leave a mark. That coupled with the steady caress of his shaft and the continued delving of his core sent him over the precipice and he shuddered with the force of his climax, groaning out his lover’s name. Glorfindel soon followed him into ecstasy and he felt the spurt of warm seed fill him.

He would have collapsed then, his limbs suddenly weak and yielding. But Glorfindel gently withdrew and, lying on his back, rolled him over so that he could lay his head on his chest. They took a few moments to recover their breaths, permitting themselves this brief respite from constant vigilance. 

At length, Elladan raised his head and looked at Glorfindel, eyes heavy lidded with satiation, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“I had thought you would forego this until we returned home,” he murmured, leaning to brush his lips against Glorfindel’s mouth.

Glorfindel’s eyes sparkled with renewed lust. “That is hardly possible with one such as you luring me on,” he huskily replied. 

He snaked a hand behind the twin’s nape to pull him into a scorching kiss. Elladan knew himself in for another rabid breaching of a passion that was solely theirs.

It was because of this that he had remained steadfast in his devotion to Glorfindel through the years. Despite the uncertainty of the warrior’s commitment to him. Notwithstanding his inconstancy insofar as bed-play was concerned. In spite of his reluctance to voice his feelings and the snail’s pace at which he meted out information about his past.

It had confounded many, including Elrond and Celebrían, when Elladan had not broken off relations with Glorfindel upon learning of his continued trysts with others and even more when he allowed none to speak ill of him in his presence.

Their affair had not long remained a secret, but few fully understood it. Mayhap in all Imladris only Elrohir had a good inkling of what truly transpired between his brother and Glorfindel. Yet even he was not privy to everything and much that he knew he gleaned through his close bond with Elladan. For the older twin guarded what he knew of his lover’s secrets as assiduously as Glorfindel did. 

Still, if there was one matter that could prove a bone of contention between the twins it was Glorfindel’s failure to return Elladan’s devotion in like degree. But Elrohir knew even as he voiced his concerns that his brother would stand by his lover.

He knew that Elladan did not seek open avowals of devotion to tell him Glorfindel felt thusly toward him. Not just yet. The captain, while reticent in such pronouncements, was effusive if subtly so in other expressions of his feelings toward the older twin.

With no other warrior was he as strict and harsh a mentor, sometimes to the point of nigh humiliating Elladan or exhausting him almost beyond bearing. To any unaware of what existed between the two, it would seem that the Imladrin captain nursed either a hatred or contempt of Elrond’s older son. But in truth, if he was overzealous in Elladan’s training, it was out of protectiveness toward him. A need to ensure that the twin would always be prepared and able to ward off harm.

He wanted Elladan to be as safe as a soldier could possibly be and worked him vigorously as a result.

With no other friend did he spend as much time indulging in trivial or leisurely pursuits as he did with Elladan. Or for that matter agreeing to participate in them in the first place. Where he would accompany Elrond’s family on picnics by the Bruinen out of his sense of duty to his lord, the same pastime when organized by Elladan was indulged in out of true enjoyment of the activity. 

He now spent long evenings in the Hall of Fire with the older twin as they sat in some cozy couch whilst listening to song and poetry. And he no longer held aloof from the occasional buffoonery amongst the less sedate Elves of the valley but would even call out his appreciation of some particularly humorous tableau. It did not escape anyone’s eyes that he was more apt to behave thusly when he had Elladan at his side.

With no other lover did he maintain so long a liaison—one spanning centuries rather than the mere fortnight of yore—and show that lover a passion heretofore carefully doled out with all his other partners. One did not need to actually witness one of their couplings to know that this was so. The evidence of it lay in their day-to-day behavior toward each other. 

Not that they ever engaged in flagrant behavior in public—Glorfindel was adamant about that and no kiss or caress or embrace ever passed between them when others were present. But no one could miss the sudden smoldering of desire that would spark in their eyes with no more than a chance glance across a chamber or the knowing way they would appraise each other that would usually lead to a quiet exit from wherever they happened to be. 

Even their choice of raiment or the way they carried themselves told the tale. Inappropriately high collars on warm mornings obviously hid myriad delightful sins. Loose tunics suddenly donned in the middle of the day following a private but all too brief encounter between the two pointed to a still unfulfilled need. And Elrond had been known to raise an eyebrow in wry reaction when his older son could not seem to remain comfortably seated during lengthy meetings. There could be no other reason but that said meeting had been inconveniently scheduled after a particularly eventful night.

Elrohir knew all these and fervently hoped that his twin’s remarkable patience would not be in vain; did his utmost to banish his unease and displeasure for Elladan’s sake. And if and when he felt his frustration well up within him on behalf of his brother, that self-same brother would remind him of what Glorfindel had endured in two lives and the manner of his passage from one into the other.

He did not recall the actual agony of his dying itself. No Elf could go through so horrific a death, remember it in detail and still stay sane. Such memories had been carefully filtered—a part of the healing he’d received within the Halls of Awaiting. No vivid scars from that fiery encounter marred his body; no nightmares of searing pain disturbed his sleep. But the fear he did recall and the knowledge of suffering; not enough to debilitate him but more than enough to convince him that he could not withstand such an experience again.

It was the same for every event he had ever known in his first life, both the good and the bad. The memories were such that he knew enough to decide if he wished to repeat an experience; if he could bear it. Most of the time, his decisions were sound. But not always.

He did not turn from his vocation as a warrior. His recollection of duty and honor coupled with the elation that stemmed from the charge into battle were enough to overcome any anxiety he may have harbored from the knowledge of the possible consequences of combat. He did not cease to be the kind and happy being he was at heart; he chose not to dwell on the tragedies and torments that could lead any sentient creature down the path to despair, bitterness and anger. But there were some memories that he could not simply set aside; memories that still ruled his choices to this day be they for good or ill.

Foremost was his reluctance to chance his heart once more. The memory of hurt, confusion and loss in his first and only venture in this arena was so powerful that it inspired as much alarm in him as the warning blasts of the sentries’ horns when the hordes of Morgoth descended upon Gondolin. With Elladan he knew once again the irresistible clamor of the body for union, the yearning for companionship that went beyond the camaraderie of friends and the constant tug of kindred spirits towards each other. But he also knew all over again the fears that went hand in hand with such feelings.

The fear of being entrusted with someone’s heart, deserved or not, and mayhap being the reason for its breaking. The fear of betrayal should one not fulfill the expectations of the other. The fear of giving of one’s self completely only to lose the very one upon whom such giving had been bestowed. He had known all these terrors once upon a time. Had believed when they had been hurdled that faith and perseverance would be rewarded. But the fall of the hidden city and the loss of all that he had held close to his heart had shattered this belief.

Small wonder that he shied from knowing the grief again. It as well as his other grievous remembrances had been muted by his centuries long stay in the timeless halls. He had been able to continue with life upon rebirth because of the gentling of those memories. He did not feel he could bear them if he were to know them in all their untempered force.

He was fortunate that Elladan comprehended this to a certain extent despite his refusal to share his deepest fears. In granting him the affection of one who could see deeply into his heart and soul without being told what lay within—and accept him nonetheless, flaws and all—fate was kind to him in this second life though he did not realize it just yet.

These thoughts crowded Elrohir’s mind as well while he awaited the pair’s return. As he had told Elladan, he harbored no ill will toward Glorfindel and indeed held him in highest esteem. But he did fret about the warrior’s inability to commit himself wholly to Elladan. And he worried about the effects of such a protracted undefined liaison on his brother.

Elladan had always been the more amenable of the twins; the more forbearing; the more politically adept. Such virtues suited a lord of a realm and Elladan Elrond’s heir exhibited all the makings of an exemplary one. As long as he trusted to his incisive wits. 

The problem began when he let his heart rule him. The Elf-knight had noticed that, in his pursuit of the golden-haired warrior, his brother oft-times catered too fervently to Glorfindel’s needs at the expense of his own. In doing so, he would suppress his own masterful personality, thereby placing him in danger of losing what made him so uniquely Elladan.

Elrohir bristled at the idea. Well, that was not to be borne if he had anything to say about it.

* * * *

The Elf-warriors save for the sentries were in various postures of repose when Glorfindel and Elladan came back to the camp. Their return was duly noted by all but none dared comment on the reason for their leaving in the first place.

Glorfindel was a benevolent leader who smiled more often than he scowled. But when his ire was aroused it was best to beware. And most had learned long ago that the surest way to ignite his temper was to demean his relationship with Elladan and Elladan himself even in playful jest.

Elrohir watched as the two spoke briefly, Glorfindel shaking his head slightly, Elladan nodding in obvious resignation. He pushed himself up on one arm when Elladan parted from Glorfindel and came to quietly lie down by his side. The Elf-knight looked at him pointedly while the older twin started to draw his cloak about his long frame. Elladan returned the look with a questioning stare.

“Why do look at me thusly, brother?” he inquired.

“I am wondering why you are preparing to spend the night at my side when you should be at _his_ ,” Elrohir said tartly.

“We are on patrol,” Elladan pointed out. “‘Twould be unseemly.”

“Ah, and rutting in some secluded grove is not?” Elrohir snorted. “Why hide it, Elladan? Why the pretense? ‘Tis not as if the others do not know where you have been or what you were doing.”

“What has upset you so?” Elladan asked curiously.

His brother sighed and reclined once more. Staring up at the glimmering firmament, he said, “Your willingness to abide his wishes even when they do not please you.” Elladan’s slight but sharp inhalation told him he had uncovered the truth. “You long to be by him. To lie as lovers do, pressed together in affection and desire. Yet you forego your own need to answer his.” 

Elrohir turned his head and gazed at his brother. “You are no simpering maiden or dullard of an Elf to coddle him so cravenly. You are Elrond’s first-born and future lord of Imladris and one I will gladly serve when the day comes.” He jerked his chin in the golden captain’s direction. “Now go to him and claim your rightful place, _gwaniuar_. If he indeed esteems you as you claim, that place is at his side should you desire it.” His argent gaze narrowed. “Unless you are not truly certain of his regard,” he added.

Elladan stared at him then glanced over at Glorfindel where he lay alone at the periphery of the camp. The warrior was reclining on his side, supported by one arm, silently gazing at the dancing flames of the campfire nearest him. Elladan looked back at his brother and saw that his stern mien had been replaced by an encouraging one.

“Just because he declined the first time does not mean he will refuse you if you insist,” he said. “Are you not the one who always says he speaks most eloquently with his actions? Why not answer him in kind?”

Elladan considered his words then smiled as he comprehended his twin’s love and concern. “Whatever would I do without you, _tôr neth_?”— younger brother—he remarked.

“Oh, you’d manage,” Elrohir shot back. “But not very well.”

The older twin laughed softly. And then, with a smirk, he rose and strode over to Glorfindel, unmindful of the surreptitious looks cast his way. The captain looked up at him with some surprise but Elladan only threw his cloak down upon the grass by his lover and settled his tall frame upon it. Glorfindel stared at him inquiringly.

“I thought we agreed not to make a display of ourselves before the others,” he reminded the older twin.

Elladan looked at him and said: “I see no reason to hide what we share. I am not shamed by it.” He gazed searchingly at Glorfindel. “But mayhap you are.”

The captain stared at him in even more surprise. “Far from it,” he protested. “Only a want-wit would feel thus.”

“Then why do you oppose a night’s rest together in plain sight of others?” Elladan softly asked.

Glorfindel regarded him a moment, perceiving the quiet hurt beneath the collected demeanor. “I did not intend to offend you,” he said. “Or have you believe that I desire to hide our trysting out of shame.” He reached out, hesitated, then cupped Elladan’s cheek in his palm. “‘Tis only that I am not given to public displays. You know how much they discomfort me.”

He paused when Elladan turned his face into his caressing hand and pressed his lips against his palm. The twin looked at him once more and smiled faintly. “I do not care for wanton conduct either or the flaunting of it,” he murmured. “I only wish to sleep by your side this night. But if you truly object—”

The rest of his speech was cut off when Glorfindel silenced him with a kiss. 

The captain drew back and noted his sparkling eyes, his sweet smile. With a sigh, Glorfindel lay down on his side and enclosed Elladan in a loose embrace.

“I do not,” he quietly stated.

Across the glade, upon ascertaining his brother’s felicitous state of mind for the night, Elrohir smiled to himself and finally slid into peaceful slumber.

*******************  
Glossary:  
tuilë – Quenya for spring

_To be continued…_


	6. V.

Ettenmoors, _lairë_ T.A. 1975  
Screams of fury and pain mingled with the enraged whinnies of warhorses, the sounds resounding across the battle-torn fields of the Ettenmoors. Metal clanged as orkish scimitars clashed with the swords of Men and Elves alike. And the shadows lengthened as the sun slowly set—too soon for the armies of the West, too late for the forces of Angmar.

Glorfindel rallied his warriors around him to drive a pack of snarling Orcs right into the spears of Círdan’s folk. He spared a quick glance to his right, noting the brethren Elladan and Elrohir’s present position relative to his. The twins had virtually plowed into a phalanx of human foes, smashing their shields aside, cutting them down with their deadly blades, then riding them into the ground with their powerful steeds. Further on he saw the entire left wing of the enemy forces waver then give way before the charge of the soldiers of Gondor.

Arthedain had fallen to Angmar the winter before and with the death of Arvedui in the icy Bay of Forochel, so had the kingship in the North come to an end though not the line of the kings. Too late had the great fleet of Gondor come to Arvedui’s aid though it had been welcomed by Elves and Men nonetheless, for help was still help however tardy it might be.

By the time word of the fleet’s arrival at Mithlond reached Rivendell, Círdan the shipwright and Eärnur son of Eärnil had mustered their armies and marched to Fornost to force battle upon the Witch-king of Angmar. 

In his pride and folly, the Witch-king had come out of his stronghold, thinking himself more than a match for the approaching army. But instead, the allied forces had defeated his hordes of Orcs and evil men and he had perforce retreated to the furthermost north, seeking the shelter of his fortress city of Carn Dûm in Angmar where he would have a chance to regroup and face his foes anew. But a cavalry of soldiers led by Eärnur overtook him ere he reached the Misty Mountains and another battle erupted in the Troll-fells. 

Things might have gone ill for the Captain of Gondor engaging the enemy so close to his own territory and far from the main body of the allied army. The timely arrival of the Elves of Rivendell averted a possible standoff or, even worse, defeat and now the balance tilted heavily in favor of the Host of the West once more.

A sudden chill smote Glorfindel’s spine and he sharply looked to where Eärnur stood his ground. He hissed in alarm when he saw what neared the man. The Witch-king himself.

Malevolence flowed from the black-robed, black-masked figure so effusively that fear took root in the hearts of men and beast alike. The guard around the Captain of Gondor fled before the Wraith’s approach, unable to master themselves or their mounts. Crying out a challenge, the Witch-king brutally spurred his midnight-hued horse into a gallop and headed straight for Eärnur.

To Glorfindel’s horror, the man did not give way before that charge but sought to meet his foe in battle. _Vainglorious want-wit!_ Glorfindel thought with anger and anxiety. _Does he think he can best that abomination? And he but a mere mortal?_

The Elf-lord urged Asfaloth forward. The elven horse fairly flew across the corpse-littered terrain.

The distance between foul Wraith-king and belligerent captain closed rapidly. Glorfindel cursed under his breath as he struck and hewed at Orcs that dared block his way.

“Glorfindel!”

The Elf-lord glanced over his shoulder to espy Elladan following hard in his wake. Dread smote him that the older twin should come face-to-face with the Witch-king and he ordered him back. “Stay! Do not follow!”

To his consternation, Elladan did not obey but continued cutting a swath through the ranks of his foes to get to Glorfindel. The captain hesitated but a moment before hastening on, seeking to come between Eärnur and his fell assailant. 

A troop of Orcs converged on him, trying to delay him. His elven steed struck out with his hooves; skulls cracked and bones snapped. Howls of pain and surprise from behind told him another group of Orcs had been foiled in their attempt to hinder him. A glance showed Elladan dispatching them with ruthless ease. Asfaloth plunged through the wavering mass into the open once more.

The Witch-king was almost upon Eärnur. But at the last moment, the man’s horse reared in terror, swerved and bolted, refusing to heed Eärnur’s commands. The Witch-king laughed and the sound of it was enough to freeze the very marrow of even the staunchest soldiers. The forces of Angmar rallied, taking heart from the retreat of the Captain of Gondor before their master.

The Witch-king shook with his mirth and motioned to his forces to charge the faltering Men once again. In the midst of his laughter, he saw the swift approach of Glorfindel. He smirked, thinking to himself that he would have good sport with this bold Elf. He turned his mount to meet the Elvenlord.

But in the next instant, Glorfindel’s form glowed with terrible brilliance. 

The Wraith gasped in shock and realization. This was no ordinary Elf but one who had come not only from beyond the Sea, but also from within the very halls of the dead. His whole being shone with the pure and blinding light of his reborn flame. The Witch-king reined in his horse in consternation, recognizing the peril the golden-haired Elda posed to him.

Glorfindel raised his arm, sword pointed at the Wraith-king. The sun was almost gone and, in the gathering darkness, the Elf-lord was like a torch of silver fire of an incandescence never yet beheld in these Hither Lands. 

With a panicked snarl, the Witch-king caved. Wheeling his mount about, he fled into the night, vanishing into the dark. After a moment, his minions broke ranks and began to scatter like termites suddenly bereft of their queen. It was a simple matter for the Men and Elves to hunt them down and destroy them.

Eärnur had mastered his steed at last and he started in pursuit of the Witch-king. Glorfindel hastened to cut him off.

“Hold, Captain of Gondor!” he cried, blocking his way.

“Out of my way, Elf-lord!” the man growled. “I will not be shamed before my men and by that abominable creature no less. Out of my way!”

Glorfindel glanced back to where the Witch-king had disappeared, then shook his head. He did not yield his ground. “Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall.”(0)

The man’s scowl eloquently expressed what he thought of the Elven captain’s words. “And you would have the glory go to an Elf?” he scoffed scornfully. “You mayhap?”

“Had it been my destiny to slay him, that would have come to pass this eve, youngling,” Glorfindel coolly replied, deliberately using the epithet to remind the other of just whom he was addressing. “I claim no laurels for myself or my kindred. There is no glory in war. Only death and suffering though we would willingly pay the price for the sake of these lands and its peoples.”

Eärnur flushed at the tacit reprimand. But prideful as he was, he tendered no apology and only nodded curtly before turning his steed away and heading back to his soldiers. 

Glorfindel watched him go, troubled that so valiant a warrior should be so lacking in wisdom and foresight. Eärnur had earned the Witch-king’s hatred in this campaign. He would not need to seek out his foe; his foe would come for him sooner or later. Glorfindel could only hope it would be much later.

“He will run on his death if he does not take heed.”

The captain sharply turned his head to skewer Elladan with a baleful glare. The twin had silently come up behind him. “As you might have done!” he growled irately. “I gave you a direct order not to follow, Elladan.”

“And I would have obeyed had there been any to guard your back,” Elladan retorted. When Glorfindel’s glare turned glacial as well, he swiftly pointed out, “I am your second, Glorfindel. ‘Twas my duty, as you well know.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed ominously. Elladan could not help flinching a bit when he saw the knuckles on Glorfindel’s right hand whiten as he clenched it into a tight fist. Yet the Elf-lord said no more but only pointed Asfaloth back to the Imladrin contingent. Elladan followed him, wondering at his unbidden anger.

* * * *

The departure of the Witch-king from the North portended a spell of quiet but the Elves were not sanguine about this dubious peace. After all, the Witch-king had only fled; he had not been bested. And none knew whither he had gone. And now there was no king and no longer any northern realm ruled by the Dúnedain. 

It was with this grim reminder in mind that the army from Rivendell marched home. Victory was theirs but only for the moment. There was no telling when war would rear its head once more or where.

Elrond’s immediate concern was for his distant kin, Isildur’s heirs. What would become of Arvedui’s son Aranarth now? And he but a youth barely past his majority. There would be no crown to assume or throne to ascend. Only the rulership of the remnants of the Dúnedain of the North who had survived the long wars. They were diminished in numbers now though not in the purity of their bloodlines or the inherent power of their illustrious heritage.

At length, Elrond made a decision on the matter. “If Aranarth chooses, he will find my home open to him and his,” the Elvenlord declared. “Henceforth, I will take it upon myself to succor his house unto the day that Isildur’s line should be restored and my brother’s heirs should bear the scepter of Annúminas once more.” 

His wife and children concurred with him and pledged their support in this endeavour. None foresaw the far-reaching repercussions of this edict upon their family in the centuries to come.

* * * *

The Last Homely House, Imladris  
It was nigh a week since their return that Elladan sought Glorfindel in his quarters. They had not spoken since the battle in the Ettenmoors. Indeed, Glorfindel had kept his distance from Elladan and the latter, perceiving that there was more to the captain’s aloofness with him than simple umbrage at having a command disregarded, let him be. But now he deemed it time to have it out with his recalcitrant lover.

He found him staring out his window at the far-off hills for Glorfindel’s bedchamber looked to the wild lands beyond and not the manicured lawns and gardens of Elrond’s house. So had the encircling mountains appeared to him from his home in ancient Gondolin. It was a view he relished. And one he now shared with Elladan alone. Just as he shared his bed with no one else but Elrond’s first-born son.

It was a vital victory for the older twin that, in the last hundred years or so, Glorfindel had ceased to dally with others. Whether it was due to weariness of the chase, or because he was content to lie in Elladan’s arms alone, or both, he would not say and his Peredhel lover did not press him for his reasons either. It was enough for Elladan to know that theirs was now an exclusive arrangement.

Elladan studied the fair-haired Noldo’s tall, lean figure awhile before walking to him and silently sliding his arms around his waist from behind.

Glorfindel did not start. He had sensed Elladan’s entry; recognized his singular scent as he approached. He leaned back into the tentative embrace, indicating his willingness to treat with the older twin again.

“I see you are recovered,” Elladan murmured, resting his chin on a broad shoulder.

“Not quite but enough,” Glorfindel averred.

“What thoughts trouble you?” Elladan inquired. “You have kept to yourself these many days.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I only ponder what might have come to pass had I not been there to rout the Witch-king,” he admitted. “Or prevent Eärnur from giving chase. Foolish mortal,” he added with some disgust.

“Aye, that he is,” Elladan agreed. “He is not half the man his father is. Methinks the kingship in Gondor will not long outlast its demise here in the North. But you have delayed that evil day and that is still to the good of Men.” He paused, recalling once more the startling transformation of his captain in that mad charge against the Witch-king. “That was a sight I had never thought to witness,” he commented softly. “You were astounding, Glorfindel. The Witch-king was verily defeated by his fear of you.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Would that I could have done the same in Gondolin,” he dryly retorted.

“You were not the Elf then that you are now,” Elladan asserted. When Glorfindel did not gainsay him, he asked, “Do you think ‘twas for this that you were sent back?”

The captain hesitated then shook his head. “One of the reasons,” he conceded. “But I do not think my oath wholly fulfilled as yet. There is another task set for me though what it might be I cannot see.”

There was silence for a long moment. At length, Glorfindel turned around and looked regretfully at Elladan. He pressed a kiss to the older twin’s lips, taking him quite by surprise. “I know I have wounded you with my reticence this past week. Forgive me,” he quietly said.

Elladan peered at him wonderingly. “Why were you so angered?” he curiously queried. “I could not have done otherwise. Else I would not be the soldier you trained me to be.”

“I know.”

“Then what enraged you?”

“I feared for you.”

Elladan gaped at him in astonishment. “I have acquitted myself well on many a field of battle,” he said. “And faced all manner of foe, human or not.”

“But never anything as malignant as the unholy spawn of Angmar,” Glorfindel countered. “The power he wielded—I have not known the like since my days in Gondolin.” He shuddered slightly. “Only a Balrog could have inspired more dread.”

“You were afraid of that creature?” Elladan said incredulously. “Yet you dared to face it.”

“Nay, I did not fear him as I did the Balrog,” Glorfindel amended. “But neither will I belittle his strength. He would have destroyed Eärnur had the fool’s horse not had more sense than its master and carried him away. And he might have vanquished you had you approached him too closely.” He cupped Elladan’s face in his hands and gazed into his eyes, his own glittering oddly. “I have lost so many who were dear to me. I did not wish to know yet another loss. I could not have borne it.”

The older twin stared at him, astounded into near speechlessness. It was the closest Glorfindel had ever come to vocally admitting anything akin to love for him. Elladan had always had to guess or discern the older Elf’s intentions from his actions. Even so measured a statement as this had the effect of a passionate declaration shouted from the rooftops of Rivendell.

When he finally found his tongue, he more than matched Glorfindel’s words. “You will not lose me,” he said. “You never will. And I would declare myself this day to you, whether you accept it or no. I love you, Glorfindel. I am yours alone and have been since the day we first met.”

Glorfindel caught his breath then pursed his lips. “So much conviction,” he murmured. “I hope you do not come to regret making so precipitate a pronouncement.”

“I will not,” Elladan passionately countered. “Indeed, I swear to it.”

He saw the frown that creased Glorfindel’s white brow as soon as he uttered his promise. As always, the captain became discomfited when faced with troths of the heart. 

It was always thus with him—he could and did make vows of allegiance and constancy when they pertained to his duties as friend or warrior or honorable Elf. But let even the faintest trace of romance enter the picture and at once he shied from such pledges, neither giving nor deigning to receive. In all their centuries together, Elladan had not voiced any oaths of love and fidelity to Glorfindel precisely because of the other’s apparent aversion to them. As he was evincing now.

The captain’s mouth tightened reprovingly. “‘Tis not wise to make such promises, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he said. “They are all too easily broken.”

“I have never broken my word,” Elladan reminded him.

“There is always a first time,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“My, but you are cynical,” the twin remarked. “Whence such caution, _seron vell_?”—beloved. He smiled faintly at the startled expression that crossed Glorfindel’s face at the endearment. 

The captain rallied. “From life,” he tersely answered.

Elladan considered this. “Surely you could learn a new lesson,” he said.

Dark golden eyebrows rose questioningly. “Such as?”

“Faith,” Elladan answered, his eyes sparkling.

“In you?” Glorfindel challenged albeit without ire.

“For a start.”

The captain gazed at him uncertainly, searchingly. Elladan had the feeling that he was about to cross some invisible line. A thrill of both pleasure and fear coursed through his body. If Glorfindel stepped over that line, it could culminate in the fulfillment of all his hopes. Or herald worse travails before he could claim his reward.

One never knew what might be with Glorfindel. The Noldorin Elf was still an enigma and true divination of his future was only possible by dint of the gift of foresight. Yet even Elrond and Galadriel who were both blessed with more than their fair share of insight and prescience had not been able to pierce the veils that shrouded Glorfindel’s personal life, past or present.

Still, Elladan had not attained so many of his desires by foregoing the risks entailed in such pursuits. And so he patiently awaited Glorfindel’s response.

The captain took a deep breath, then nodded. “I could try,” he whispered.

*******************  
Glossary:  
lairë – Quenya for summer

(0) Passage is from LoTR: _The Return of the King_ , Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers - Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion (iv)

_To be continued…_


	7. VI.

_Coirë_ T.A. 2510  
Silence reigned in the Last Homely House, deafening in the wake of the strident screams and harsh sobs that had earlier resounded in the halls. A few of the household gathered a short distance down the corridor from their lord and lady’s bedchamber; watched in hushed silence as the twins and their sister emerged from the room and waited outside, their faces strained.

That in itself was not unusual—the past year had seen this scene played out many a time. But today, all who observed the siblings sensed a difference. It was in the tense stance of the brethren; in the droop of Arwen’s shoulders. Something direr than all the previous months' events had occurred. The Elves murmured curiously among themselves.

At length, three figures came out of the chamber—Elrond and Erestor and Erestor’s healer wife. The three spoke a while before the counsellor and his lady reentered the chamber. Elrond went to his children. They conferred for several minutes and with each passing minute one could see the expressions on the younger Peredhil change from shock to incredulity to anguish.

Arwen…staunch, always composed Arwen began to sob. Elladan reached out to steady her. With a moan, she swayed then swooned; her brother caught her before she slumped to the floor. He tenderly lifted her in his arms.

At that point, the Elves were startled out of their rapt regard of the family. Glorfindel appeared amidst them and in a soft but firm voice, bade them to disperse and leave Elrond and his children to their privacy. They swiftly obeyed. 

The captain spared one backward glance at the family. Elladan was bearing his sister to her room, Elrohir and Elrond following, the younger twin’s arm tight around his father’s sagging shoulders.

Glorfindel, mouth grim, headed for his own quarters. Elladan would come to him this evening and in need of what comfort the captain could give him. Of that he was certain.

So had life in the Last Homely House been since that terrible day the previous summer. When the twins had returned from the Orc nest whither their mother had been forcibly spirited, bearing back her almost unrecognizable form, so scourged and battered had it been. 

Glorfindel would never forget his first sight of Elrond’s lady when Elladan’s cloak had been pulled away to reveal the atrocities done to her. Thank Eru she had fallen unconscious else he did not know how she had endured the hurried ride from the Goblin den to the rendezvous point at the base of the Misty Mountains. But he also cursed the cruelty of fate that the twins should have been the ones to find their mother instead of himself or any others of the search party that had ridden out of Imladris to rescue her.

It was near midnight when Elladan entered his bedchamber. The older twin’s face was paler than normal, his grey eyes aglitter with the burden of whatever it was that Elrond had imparted to his children earlier. Lying abed, Glorfindel said nothing but simply lifted the covers in tacit invitation. Elladan shed his robe and slipped under them, into Glorfindel’s arms. For many minutes, he lay with his head on the captain’s shoulder, letting the silent stroking of his hair soothe him.

At length he spoke. “Father is sending her to Valinor,” he whispered, his voice sorrowful. “He can do nothing more for her here.”

Glorfindel stifled a gasp of dismay. For Elrond to admit defeat, that his wife’s wounds were beyond his ability to heal, was dreadful news for any who lived in the vale.

“When?” he asked.

“Spring’s end.”

He felt the tears then, the salty dampness on his skin as Elladan silently wept, his body as still as his heart was turbulent. He held Elladan more snugly.

He was at a loss. Though he had known the heartache of losing loved ones at the end of his first existence in Arda, he had not had the time to grieve for them. Indeed, others had grieved for him instead. The muting of his pain within the timeless halls unto his return to life had preempted his personal need to expunge his sorrow and feelings of devastation through the age-old rites of mourning.

All he could do was succor Elladan with his presence, with the haven of his embrace. Whether he realized or not that there could be no better balm than this became moot the moment Elladan responded by lifting his head and sealing his lips to Glorfindel’s mouth.

It was natural for the brethren to seek solace in physical release. They were not like their sister who turned to more introspective means of relieving herself of pain; in books and meditation and heartfelt discussions with those close to her. In this she was very much Elrond’s daughter. Glorfindel imagined that even now she had recovered from her faint and was probably embroiled in easing her father’s grief over his decision, closeted with him in his study along with Erestor and mayhap faithful Lindir. But the twins… He wondered briefly who warmed Elrohir’s bed this night before turning his attention to the twin who would warm his.

The stoking of the flames of desire that usually preceded their couplings was lengthier than their wont. Not for lack of lust but rather because of Elladan’s desire for more affection. A need for a greater intimacy than they’d ever shared. Glorfindel could feel it in his fervent, pillaging kisses, in the way he feverishly smoothed his palms over the captain’s flesh, the demanding grind of his groin against his lover’s hips.

When the last kiss turned almost savage in its intensity, Glorfindel broke away and gazed into Elladan’s eyes searchingly. Elladan stared back, panting shallowly, hands stilling where he had previously never ventured. On the taut curves of Glorfindel’s backside.

Glorfindel quickly comprehended what it was Elladan needed to assuage his raucous emotions though it was clear the twin was hesitant to ask it of him. Elladan avoided discomforting him more than was necessary, aware at all times of the past and its still present hold on the reborn Noldo.

For a fraught moment, the captain debated his willingness, nay, his readiness to offer Elladan this utmost comfort. But his great affection for the twin—that it might run even deeper was still something he shied from acknowledging—won out. With a sigh, he brushed his lips against Elladan’s and rolled onto his belly. If he was going to do this, he did not think he could bear to see the proof of his capitulation in Elladan’s face. Not yet.

Elladan regarded him with some disbelief. But he did not hesitate to accept what was offered. He only took the time to prepare Glorfindel’s body for breaching.

“Surely _you_ are not untried, _melethron_ ”—lover—he murmured, surprised at the contrary evidence his fingers discovered in their probing.

“I am not untried,” Glorfindel said, his voice catching at the sensation of the no longer familiar intrusion. “But I have not lain thusly in this lifetime.”

He sensed Elladan’s astonishment. But not an abatement of his desire to have him. He braced himself as the twin molded himself to his back, the evidence of his arousal nudging at him in blatant lubricity. Elladan’s breath feathered his skin as the latter leaned low to murmur into his ear.

“You once expressed regret at not getting to know my steel,” he said. “You may not have truly meant it then but you will undoubtedly know it now.”

Even as he spoke, he pressed into the captain, easing himself in inch by inch as Glorfindel had done their first time of coupling. The golden-haired Elf gasped at his entry, then smothered each successive groan as Elladan slid in all the way. His reborn body may not have retained memories of his yieldings in Valinor or Gondolin but his mind did and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the flesh that speared him was thicker than all others he had once known in addition to its impressive length. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to calm down, to set aside the instinct to resist Elladan’s continued passage

Elladan noted the way Glorfindel gripped the sheet beneath him, how he bit his lip and tightly shut his eyes. He did not think the Noldo had been so unwilling in his first life to yield to fellow _ellyn_. It was apparent that his reluctance now had more to do with the shielding of his emotions than the breaching of his body. 

For so redoubtable a warrior and one who had since built walls around his heart and assiduously guarded it, there could be no more wrenching surrender than to allow another into his body. Elladan swallowed hard at this most obvious evidence of Glorfindel’s regard for him though it remained unspoken. However much the captain retained his reticence on the matter there could be no denying that this act of submission was rooted in the very emotion he refused to allow to consume him. 

Mindful of Glorfindel’s comfort, Elladan did not move but waited for the fair-haired Elf to adjust to his girth.

Glorfindel strove for some semblance of calm in his mind if not his heart and body. After several tense heartbeats, he determinedly pushed back against Elladan’s hips, indicating his readiness for the twin’s initial charge. It came, deep and hard and merciless, for Glorfindel was no timid maiden who craved gentle usage but a soldier who was used to brisk, unrelenting assaults on his person whether on the rough fields of battle or on the soft plains of his bed.

He heard Elladan’s ragged breathing, felt his grip hard and possessive on his hips. Sable locks tumbled upon his shoulders to mingle with his shining tresses. The press of lips against his nape and back were akin to a scorching brand in his fevered mind. A warm hand reached around him and gripped him hardily, stroking him with a surety born of long experience. Pleasure snaked through him until his limbs trembled as the branches of a tree quiver in a gale.

With each thrust, Elladan evinced a mastery he had not displayed since their first bedding. And betrayed what depths of passion he was capable of when unrestrained in any manner. It struck Glorfindel then just what the older twin had chosen to sacrifice for the captain’s sake.

“You gift me with something precious beyond compare,” he heard Elladan hoarsely intone. “Would that I could match it some day, _pen vîreb_ ”—treasured one.

Glorfindel shivered at the tender words. Overcome if only in that instant by a cascading wave of wonder and gratitude, he said. “You already did. Long ago when you first lay beneath me.”

Ecstasy bested him then and he spoke no more as he gasped with every jolt of bliss and every spurt of his seed. And for the first time since before his passing, he knew all over again the feeling of liquid heat filling him. Only—he did not recall ever having been as physically sated. Or as absurdly delirious with contentment and joy.

* * * *

_Lairë_ T.A. 2510  
Elrond’s sigh of frustration was audible in the suddenly silent study. Glorfindel sympathized with him as he watched the ordinarily cool and collected Elf-lord distractedly pace back and forth.

It had been a mistake to delay Celebrían’s departure. 

The brethren had seemed to come to terms with the inevitable parting in the immediate days after their father’s announcement. But during the months between that time and her leaving, their equanimity had steadily eroded and ultimately dissolved. For in that intervening time, their mother’s emotional state had deteriorated to the extent that Elrond had had to bind her to their bed during the more explosive of her hysterical outbursts.

It was the knowledge of her inevitable leave-taking of her family and the unmerited guilt that she had wrought this grief upon them that brought the poor lady to the brink of lunacy. So great had been the family’s distress that Elrond had not awaited the end of spring but taken her to the Havens nearly a month shy of the intended day of departure. Glorfindel and a select group of warriors had escorted them.

Now they were back. Saddened by the loss of a most beloved wife and lady yet relieved that she and they might find some respite from the preceding months’ ordeal. Only to face a new threat to their fragile peace.

The brethren informed their father of their intent to join the Dúnedain that summer in their yearly ridings against evil elements in the north. In particular, they would take on the creatures that had sundered their family—Orcs.

The two stood with Erestor and Arwen by the wide window that overlooked the garden and the large patch of their mother’s prized roses. They were coolly defiant in the face of the counsellor’s quiet exhortations for prudence and their sister’s eloquent pleas for them to stay; so unlike their usual warm and accommodating selves that it chilled Glorfindel’s blood to watch them. Yet he could understand their aloofness. 

They were probably simmering underneath with unresolved rage and only by behaving thusly could they keep from venting their fury on those about them. He had known the beginnings of that rage when he’d witnessed the death and destruction at Gondolin’s fall. When he’d seen _her_ die. Only his own demise had forestalled the coming to full fruition of his anger and the need for revenge. The twins had no such tempering experience.

Arwen suddenly turned and came to the captain, her lovely face streaked with tears though she did not give in to frantic fits of grief.

“Speak with them, Glorfindel,” she begged. “Make them listen to reason. You have much sway with them. Elladan will hearken to you and Elrohir will follow him.”

Glorfindel glanced at the twins. They stared back at him, Elrohir’s eyes predictably challenging, Elladan’s oddly veiled. He sighed and placed a hand on Arwen’s arm.

“My heart urges me to do as you bid,” he told her. “But reason counsels me to desist.”

Arwen gasped in disbelief. “Surely you do not mean that!” she protested. “This quest for vengeance will scorch their spirits. They will change and no longer be my brothers as Fëanor ceased to be who he was when he esteemed the Silmarils above all else even unto his own kindred.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I cannot tell them to forego what I would have once undertaken had circumstances been otherwise,” he said softly and somberly. Nevertheless, his voice carried and the others paused to listen. “Even did I succeed in making them stay, I would not be able to erase their anger. It would fester within them, embitter them and harden their hearts and souls.” 

He gazed intently at the brethren. “Fëanor was ever ruled by his pride. Your brothers are not as he. Even should they seek vengeance, I believe you will still know them. They will change but remain Elladan and Elrohir.”

Arwen fell silent. She looked at Erestor and then at her father. Elrond answered her gaze then turned his to the twins. For the longest while, he regarded them, as if fearful they would vanish from sight even as he did. And then his shoulders relaxed and calm returned to his patrician features.

“If this is their desire, so be it,” he quietly decreed.

* * * *

The sun had barely begun its ascent when Elladan and Elrohir went forth from their father’s house to embark on what would span centuries of vengeful errantry.

Glorfindel eyed the group of Rangers who awaited the brethren out in the courtyard before the Last Homely House. Mounted, cloaked and armed, they were not as other men but were taller, comelier and nobler by far. Henceforth, Elrond’s sons would oft keep company with them, visible reminders of their Chieftains’ kinship with the House of the Mariner.

The captain turned his gaze to the twins. They spoke quietly with their sire and sister. A modicum of softness had returned to their demeanor in this moment of parting or so it seemed to those who had gathered to see them off. 

Glorfindel had known some of that tenderness the night before as Elladan lay in his arms for what might very well be the last time in the Valar knew how long. Had felt the older twin’s love embrace his spirit as effusively as his hand, mouth and body enclosed his hard flesh. They spent themselves in wordless synchrony, the only sounds the gasps and groans of their shared ecstasy.

They had not alluded to the brethren’s decision. Both knew there was no sense in dredging up what could not be altered. 

Elladan’s conviction in his course was strong and Glorfindel did not care to gainsay it. He understood the twins’ relentless hunger, the driving need. Mayhap had they not borne witness to the horror that had taken place in that noisome Goblin den this might have been averted. But there was no changing the past and they could only move on and pray they did not choose their paths falsely.

The twins bid Elrond farewell, caught Arwen in loving hugs. Elrohir strode towards the Rangers and his sleek steed, but Elladan turned to Glorfindel. He gravely gazed at his long-time lover.

“I had thought you would seek to stay me,” he admitted.

“Much I desired to, I did not deem it wise,” Glorfindel softly replied. “It would not serve you to remain here and nurse your anger.” He smiled faintly at the older twin. “And even had I done so, I doubt you would have desisted for long despite Arwen’s belief in my powers of persuasion.”

Elladan smiled wanly in return. “Aye, that is most likely.” He drew a deep breath. “I shall miss you, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—he murmured.

His eyes glimmering with mirroring sentiment, Glorfindel nodded and said, “Take care, _maethoren vain_.”—my beautiful warrior.

Elladan’s smile widened at the unexpected appellation. About to turn and join the others, he suddenly stepped back and pressed a swift kiss to Glorfindel’s lips. And then he was striding off to mount his steed.

The Elves watched the band ride away with melancholic hearts. They had known that life would never be the same again at the Last Homely House since the previous summer. But they had not realized just how different it would be.

Glorfindel kept his eyes on Elladan’s tall frame until the band disappeared from sight. He turned his head when he felt Arwen’s hand on his. She, too, did not take her eyes from the figures of her brothers.

“I hope you are right, Glorfindel,” she sorrowfully said. “I pray that we shall still know them when they come home to stay.”

Glorfindel sighed inwardly. _So do I_ , he soberly thought. _So do I._

***********************  
coirë – Quenya for early spring  
ellyn – male Elves  
lairë – Quenya for summer

_To be continued…_


	8. VII.

Lothlórien, _Nórui_ T.A. 2953  
The brethren reined in their steeds as they approached the northern fences of the Golden Wood. Though they were familiar faces to the Elves of this realm and would be readily granted entry, they did not wish to alarm the sentries either. Not in these perilous days. Wood-elves wherever they resided tended to loose their arrows into trespassers first and ask questions later.

They patiently awaited the appearance of the guards instead. The first stepped into sight soon enough followed by several others. The twins recognized their leader. It was Haldir.

“ _Suilad, hiren!_ ”—Greetings, my lords!—he hailed them. “We bid you welcome to our fair forest.”

They returned the greeting graciously before Elladan stated their desire to go on to Caras Galadon. At once, Haldir assigned a goodly number of his Elves to escort them.

“The Lord and Lady are readying themselves for a sojourn abroad,” he informed the twins before they embarked on the trip to the interior of the forest. “They will be pleased that you reached them ere they left.”

“Where are they going?” Elrohir asked in some surprise.

“Radagast’s halls in Rhosgobel,” came the reply.

The twins glanced at each other. Their grandparents seldom left their realm and only for good cause. All the more reason to hasten and learn from them what event drew them forth. Conveying their thanks to the marchwarden, they pointed their horses toward the city of the Galadhrim.

Elrohir took note of the Geledhil about them. He hid a smile. There had been no need for such a large escort considering they were heading into the heart of the Golden Wood and not away from it. But Haldir had been hard pressed to turn away any who had offered to accompany the brethren, finally compromising by stipulating that some travel only part of the way with the twins.

Even here in the heart of Elvendom in Middle-earth, the brethren were not without their fervent admirers. But unlike in nearly two millennia past, it was only Elrohir who received more than surreptitious consideration, who was outright approached for more than mere conversation. 

Elladan’s affair with Glorfindel was well known in these parts and none of the Galadhrim, even the feistiest, cared to rouse the Balrog slayer’s ire by importuning his lover. They looked but did not touch; talked but did not flirt; allowed their appreciation of the older twin’s graces to show but carefully concealed any expressions of desire.

Yet one Galadhel stared at Elladan with undisguised lust, his eyes openly raking the latter’s tall, well-knit frame. Elrohir took a moment to identify him. 

It was Rúmil, one of Haldir’s brothers, who also oft did duty as a border-guard on the northern marches. He walked beside Elladan’s steed and had succeeded in engaging the older twin in bawdy banter. Elladan was seen to grin back at him when he uttered a particularly lubricious witticism. Encouraged, Rúmil moved even closer, his hand caressing the flank of Elladan’s mount, close to the twin’s leg.

_Bold little devil_ , the Elf-knight thought. _He would be more cautious were Glorfindel about, I wager._

He looked at Elladan curiously, struck by his twin’s uncharacteristic openness to the Lórien Elf’s less than tacit overtures. 

Ordinarily, the older twin turned away suits almost as soon as they were broached. He was infinitely polite in going about it and did his utmost not to ruffle a spurned Elf’s feelings overmuch. And in recent years, most Elves had learned not to broach the matter at all and had thus spared him the admittedly unpleasant task of rejecting suitors. 

Yet here he was permitting if not outright entertaining young Rúmil’s rather blatant wooing. Elrohir wondered if his brother’s present manner had to do with the turn his relationship with Glorfindel had taken in the last five decades.

Of late, Glorfindel’s demeanor toward Elladan had changed once again and markedly so from the first centuries of the twins’ questing. Whereas he had been almost astonishingly open with his affection for Elladan whenever the brethren returned to Imladris for a visit, during their most recent homecomings he had seemed somewhat more withdrawn. 

Elladan had fretted about the slight aloofness but had balked at discussing the matter with Glorfindel. Elrohir suspected his brother was too fearful of discovering yet another setback in the torturously slow evolution of his affair with the captain. There had been many in all their centuries together yet the older twin had remained patient when all others would have given up long afore. But now… 

What if Elladan’s store of patience was finally running low? 

Elrohir observed his brother once more. Elladan was obviously enjoying the attention shown him. Indeed, his amicability had spurred a few others to join Rúmil in his suggestive sallies. Elrohir felt prickles of unease creep up his spine.

He did not begrudge his brother the increasingly blatant displays of covetousness. The Valar knew Elladan could do with a little more obvious evidence of appreciation than what Glorfindel showed him. But the state of Elladan’s heart and mind in the last several years troubled him nonetheless.

They had parted ways with their family’s latest fosterling just two years ago. Aragorn, last surviving heir of Isildur’s house, had returned to Rivendell after a time of errantry with his Peredhil brothers. Not long after, a message from Elrond had caught up with them ere they journeyed once more into the wild. 

Their father’s news had initially amused them: Aragorn had finally met Arwen and fallen in love with her. Upon second thought, however, both recognized the potential tragedy of the situation, either for their mortal foster-brother or for their family. As to whether Arwen returned his affection was presently unknown but she had shown him naught but kindness and had not discouraged him from pressing his suit. That in itself was telling.

“Father must wonder what fools he has bred,” Elladan had muttered afterwards. “Ever do we seem to choose the impossible when it comes to matters of love.” He glanced at his twin. “I pray you will have more sense than Arwen and I when you give your heart away, _gwanneth_.”—younger twin.

His unexpected diatribe had shocked Elrohir. Never had Elladan disparaged in any way either Glorfindel or the nature of his relationship with him. Perhaps adding to the older twin’s bitterness was the lack of word from his lover in that communication from Rivendell. Coupled with Glorfindel’s inexplicable distance during their last few visits… well, there was no faulting Elladan for being disheartened. 

Still and all, Elrohir wished his brother had confronted Glorfindel and had it out with him instead of letting his doubts gnaw at him. Amazing how redoubtable a warrior prince as the older twin could be reduced to silent forbearance when in his lover’s presence.

Elrohir sighed inwardly. He was by far the more mercurial twin, the less patient one. Yet one would think he and Elladan had exchanged places if one were to gauge their personalities based on their behavior these past many years.

* * * *

They came to the city of the Galadhrim just as dusk fell.

Leaving their faithful steeds in the stables, they ascended the winding stairs that wrapped about a massive mallorn at the top of which was the wide talan upon which their grandparents’ great house rested. They were led at once to the private audience chamber adjacent to the residential wing of the house. The welcome shown them within was most warm and effusive, Celeborn and Galadriel enfolding them in hearty embraces as soon as they laid eyes on them.

“It gladdens our hearts that you are here,” Celeborn said. “We were loath to leave our fair woods without governance when our southern borders are oft beleaguered by malefactors and the north increasingly beset by Orcs.”

“What calls you away, sire?” Elrohir inquired.

“We received a summons just this morn from Mithrandir,” the silver-haired Elf explained. “He calls for a meeting of the White Council post-haste.”

“On what grave matter?” Elladan asked.

“The Rings of Power,” Galadriel replied. At the twin’s startled reactions, she added: “It seems both Mithrandir and Saruman have uncovered more tidings regarding the One Ring.”

“Valar! Have they discovered its whereabouts?” Elladan said.

“We do not know but ‘tis likely the chief object of this meeting,” Celeborn answered. “Your advent here is most provident. Will you set our hearts at ease and govern this realm in our absence?”

“We are at your service, Grandfather,” Elladan promised. “Rest assured, we will guard Lothlórien well.”

“Our gratitude to you, _pin vuil_ ”—dear ones—Galadriel warmly said. She glanced over their shoulders then smiled at her older grandson. “Ah, here is a sight that should greatly please you, Elladan.”

Both twins looked back in time to espy a tall, golden-haired figure step into the chamber. Elladan caught his breath. “Glorfindel!” he softly exclaimed.

For a moment, he was tempted to cast decorum to the four winds and fling himself into the captain’s arms. But his well-ingrained sense of discipline stayed him and he settled for beaming happily at his lover. Elrohir took it upon himself to ascertain the reason for the fair Noldo’s presence in the Golden Wood.

“How come you to be in Lórien, Glorfindel?” he queried, eyes gleaming with pleasure at his brother’s patent felicity.

“I have been in residence here for nigh the past year,” Glorfindel explained. “There was some need for my advice in the training of swordsmen.”

The brethren had to smile at so understated a reason for the captain’s services. 

The Galadhrim were master bowmen with as much a reputation in the field as the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood. But they were less skilled in the use of swords. Just as the Lord and Lady would occasionally deploy their best archers to Rivendell to help the Imladrin warriors hone their archery skills, so did Elrond dispatch his finest swordsmen to the Golden Wood here and then that the Galadhrim might benefit from their tutelage. This was not the first time Glorfindel had come to Lothlórien for this purpose.

“How much longer will you stay here?” Elladan inquired, unable to stifle the hopeful tone of his voice.

Glorfindel looked at him ruefully. “I had intended to remain another month but I am required at council as well and must leave with your grandparents come dawn.”

“But of course,” Elladan managed to say. 

He was disappointed but he could not ask Glorfindel to forego his duty as a member of the White Council. Particularly when it seemed the matter to be debated was of a dire nature.

Celeborn laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have ridden far and long,” he gently said. “Come and replenish your strength. ‘Tis time for the evening meal.”

The twins duly complied. It was of some comfort to Elladan that Glorfindel sat across from him at table even if they could not speak in lovers’ terms. And the speculations regarding the reason for Gandalf the Grey’s urgent summons proved distraction enough for the duration of the meal. Still, he was relieved when dinner finally came to an end and he could seek a moment of privacy with the captain.

They met in the corridor beyond the audience chamber that led to the sleeping quarters. Elladan looked hungrily at his lover, forgetting in his need to restrain his fervor. He searched Glorfindel’s face for evidence of a like desire that the captain would have suppressed in the presence of others. He thought he saw a flicker of it in the Noldo’s eyes and wondered why Glorfindel still held himself in check.

“I have missed you so,” he whispered, lifting a hand to caress the captain’s strong jaw.

Glorfindel smiled. “As I have missed you,” he replied. “It has been—what?—five years since your last visit to the vale.”

“Six,” Elladan amended. “Long, I admit, but not as lengthy as in previous times.” Glorfindel nodded, recalling the days when the twins had only infrequently returned home after spending decades in pursuit of the creatures they had sworn to destroy. And only for the briefest of rests before setting out once more on their questing. Elladan saw the sadness in his lover’s eyes. 

“Glorfindel, before you leave, I would that we spend this night together,” he pleaded. “Elbereth knows how much I need you.”

“That is not possible, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Glorfindel declined gently, turning the familiar appellation into an endearment with the warmth of his voice. “The suddenness of Mithrandir’s call has left us little time to prepare for the journey. I will scarcely have time to lie abed this night to rest, much less indulge in bed-play.”

Elladan sighed in frustration. “Then let me help you,” he said.

The captain shook his head. “You are in need of a good night’s sleep,” he stated. “Even Elves must rest after lengthy toil and more so a Peredhel.”

Elladan stared at him, his disappointment deepening. But at length, he only nodded. His throat tight, he made to turn and leave. 

Glorfindel caught him by the arm and pulled back. He inhaled sharply when his face was cupped in the captain’s powerful hands and his mouth captured in a scorching kiss. He snaked his arms around Glorfindel’s waist and returned the caress with as much heated fervency.

“My lord captain?” They broke apart at the hesitant inquiry. Glorfindel’s Lórien counterpart stood a short distance away, his eyes tactfully averted from their much too intimate embrace. “My apologies, but the Lord Celeborn would like a word with you.”

Glorfindel gave him a curt nod before turning his attention to Elladan once more. “I must go,” he murmured. “But I trust you will see me off in the morning?”

“Aye, I will,” Elladan said. He watched the captain stride away then headed for the baths.

Hours later, he tossed and turned in his bed, unable to slip into the aforementioned repose. Elladan knew what it was that hindered him from finding rest. He needed Glorfindel. And failing that, he needed at least some reminder of his presence, even his scent upon the sheets of his bed.

Elladan rose and left his room. He would lie in Glorfindel’s bed even if the captain did not use it this night. He silently traversed the corridor, then turned at the corner that led to the guest quarters. Glorfindel’s chamber lay midway down the narrow hall.

He was still a short distance away when the door opened. Elladan halted and gaped in disbelief when an Elf-woman emerged from the chamber. She was clad in a light bed-robe and her hair tumbled about her shoulders in some disarray. She went on down the corridor. Elladan did not move but could only stare after her in shock. 

A few minutes later, Glorfindel hurriedly exited his room, a number of scrolls and a thick tome in hand. He was not in a state of dishevelment as the woman had been but he was simply arrayed in a loose shirt and long breeches. Before Elladan could think to move and meet him, he disappeared in the opposite direction.

Stricken with mounting anger and misery, Elladan fled to his brother’s room. He startled Elrohir when he burst into the chamber and summarily crawled into the bed beside him. The Elf-knight half sat up in alarm when he felt his twin’s body begin to tremble quite violently.

“Elladan, what ails you?” he exclaimed, reaching to clasp the latter in his arms.

“Betrayed,” Elladan whispered harshly against his shoulder. “I am betrayed, _muindor_!”—brother.

“By who? Who has betrayed you?”

But Elladan could not or would not speak in his agitation. He only rolled out of his brother’s arms and buried his face in the pillow. Elrohir stared in consternation as he began to weep. Yet the older twin refused to say another word and he settled for stroking Elladan’s back soothingly until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion. Though whether it was a weariness of the body or the spirit, Elrohir did not know just yet.

* * * *

Elrohir frowned for the umpteenth time as Rúmil brushed salaciously against Elladan in the archery yard. And Elladan did not protest or put him in his place. Instead, he grinned at the Galadhel and even placed a more than convivial hand on the latter’s shoulder. A moment later, Rúmil whispered something in the older twin’s ear. Elladan thoughtfully regarded him. And then a slow smile curled his mouth.

t was a smile not seen by others since before Elladan had ceased to dally with any but Rivendell’s captain. He whispered something back the effect of which was to propel the young border-guard into snaking a proprietary arm around Elladan’s waist and squeezing him slightly.

The Elf-knight shook his head. This had gone far enough. 

The pair’s recent behavior had already set tongues wagging in the city. This flagrant exhibition would further fan the flames of gossip beyond what was tenable. And gossip there was in abundance. Starting with the unnaturally cool farewell the older twin had bestowed on his lover upon the departure of the Lórien contingent. 

No one had expected any sentimental displays with so many looking on. But there had been a distinct lack of warmth in Elladan’s demeanor when Glorfindel had taken leave of him; so formal had he been that even the Lord and Lady had looked at him with some surprise. And the captain had seemed puzzled by his remoteness as well though he evinced no obvious trace of offence at the subtle snub.

Elrohir had collared his twin almost as soon as the delegation disappeared from sight. Only then did Elladan finally tell him what had upset him so terribly. 

Elrohir had been aghast at first. And his reactions had been quite natural. Indignation on behalf of his brother. Rage at the captain’s treachery. Sorrow for Elladan that his dreams should be shattered yet again.

But after the first bout of anger had passed, the Elf-knight had allowed reason to prevail. And the more he thought about it, the more he worried that his twin may have read more into the situation than was warranted. 

He believed it prudent to give Glorfindel the benefit of their doubt until further hard evidence showed otherwise. He had told Elladan so but to his consternation, his brother had not been inclined to listen to any defense of the captain’s actions; not even so mild a suggestion that he talk to him before doing anything rash in retaliation. And retaliate Elladan seemed bent on doing if his flirtations with Rúmil were any indication of his intentions.

Elrohir approached his twin determinedly. He had to talk with Elladan before things got out of hand. Without so much as a by-your-leave he appropriated his brother from the young Galadhel’s side, suggesting that Rúmil see to his duties lest he wished to be returned to the borders soonest. Ignoring Elladan’s scowled protest, he hauled his twin to a secluded glade a short walk from the yard.

“Do you think this wise, Elladan?” he said without preamble.

“What are you talking about?” Elladan questioned with some pique.

“This assignation you have apparently agreed to,” Elrohir answered.

Elladan snorted. “What of it?” he challenged.

“Glorfindel will not be pleased should he find out,” Elrohir cautioned.

“He beds whom he wishes, when he wishes and where he wishes,” Elladan countered. “What right has he to order my life?”

“The right of one who owns you,” Elrohir replied evenly.

“Owns me because I was foolish enough to entrust myself to his keeping,” Elladan retorted. “And indeed he has kept me as a master keeps his faithful hound. Casting me a bone here and then to ensure my loyalty but never more, Elrohir, never more. At least Rúmil does not shy from expressing his appreciation of my graces! And I had thought you would take my side in this, _gwanneth_!” he added scathingly.

“Elladan, if I remonstrate with you, ‘tis for your sake,” Elrohir reminded him. “For your honor, which you have always been at pains to uphold.”

“My honor?”

“You swore yourself his,” the Elf-knight pointed out. “Will you break faith now and for insufficient cause?”

“Insufficient cause!” Elladan snapped. “Is the breaking of my heart insufficient cause? Centuries have I bided my time, waiting for every scrap of affection he would deign to toss my way. And to what end? To know that still I am not enough for him?”

“You do not know that—” Elrohir tried to say.

“What other evidence do I require of my dispensability?” Elladan cut him off. “I see now why our questing has been no hardship for him. And why should it be when, in my absence, he has had no lack of willing bodies to warm his bed!”

“Elladan, ‘tis folly to base your assumptions on what little you saw,” Elrohir insisted. Sweet Eru! How could things have so changed that his brother should now be the strident one and he the voice of reason?

“Little?” Elladan said incredulously. “What I witnessed was hardly little!”

“You saw her leave his chamber, that is all,” Elrohir shot back.

“When he had just refused me his bed,” Elladan countered.

“And still there need not be a connection between the two,” Elrohir retorted. “What besets you?” he asked bewilderedly. “Ever have you heeded good sense, yet now you fan the flames of your anger whether it be just or no!”

“Because I am sore at heart,” Elladan said bleakly. “I am weary, Elrohir. My patience is at an end.”

Elrohir gazed at him with rampant concern. The anxiety that had gripped him these past many years with regard to his twin’s well being±specifically his heart’s well being—surged forth anew. Never had he seen Elladan so hard and brittle; qualities he could easily imagine in his own self but not in his gentle, forbearing older brother. He grasped Elladan’s shoulders with suddenly chilled fingers.

“Then break with him first, _tôr iuar_ ”—older brother—he urged. “If you truly must seek comfort elsewhere, do not do so foresworn. Deceit does not become you.”

“Break with him?” Elladan scoffed, shrugging off his brother’s hands. “I was not aware that there was anything between us that needed sundering. And you need not worry about my comfort this night, Elrohir. I am quite certain it will be seen to most fulsomely.” 

He turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the thick cluster of _mellyrn_ that harbored the _telain_ housing the city barracks.

His heart heavy, the Elf-knight watched his brother walk away. Deep foreboding overtook him and he found himself striving to calm his clamorous nerves.

_Ah, Elladan, the Valar protect you. I pray you do not rue this choice to tread so perfidious a path._

********************  
Glossary:  
Nórui – Sindarin for June  
Galadhrim – people of Lothlórien  
Geledhil (sing. Galadhel) – tree-Elves  
mallorn (pl. mellyrn) – tree indigenous to the forest of Lothlórien  
talan (pl. telain) – also called a flet, an open platform built in a mallorn that serves as a living space; the Galadhrim built their homes and buildings upon them

_To be continued…_


	9. VIII.

For a fortnight, Elladan’s anger held him in thrall. Elrohir could only look on in helpless unease while his brother allowed his resentment to consume him. And fervently prayed that word of it would never reach Rivendell.

Then Elladan awakened one fine morning, his rage dampened and both calm and reason restored. He turned in his bed and laid his eyes on the Elf who had shared it with him. An Elf who was not Glorfindel. Suddenly, bile rose in his throat as the enormity of what had transpired struck him in full.

He barely managed to make it to Elrohir’s room before emptying his belly into the chamber pot his brother hurriedly snatched up and held up for him. Elrohir hugged him close afterwards while he shuddered wretchedly, grateful that his twin had finally come back to his senses, but fearful the consequences would be too daunting for him to endure.

The Elf-knight took care of sending a bewildered and understandably aggrieved Rúmil back to the northern fences with a stern warning not to speak to his fellow guards of his liaison with the older twin. Not that it would do much good, Elrohir knew. Caras Galadon had been abuzz about the affair for the two weeks it had lasted. Elrohir had no doubt that by now the border-wardens already knew of it and in great detail.

Elladan cloistered himself that day, allowing none but his twin to come into his presence. The following morning, he emerged from his seclusion and went about the ordering of the forest realm as he had been charged. So calm and collected was he that the Galadhrim thought him unflustered by all the gossip and speculation. 

But Elrohir knew better. Knew that his twin was sickened to his very core.

The Elf-warrior spent each night steeped in near sleepless remorse. Elrohir had been right. He who had derided another’s faithlessness had himself been faithless. Had lowered himself to baseness and thus besmirched his own honor. It was something he would have to live with, this knowledge that he had betrayed his oath of fidelity and thereby proved himself as capable of sordid behavior as any fickle-hearted creature.

By the time word came from scouts in the north that their Lord and Lady were finally returning, he was desperate to quit the Golden Wood and hopefully leave behind all memory of his error as well. He dispatched a well-armed troop to meet them, mindful of the perils that afflicted the north but also anxious to get them back safely and soonest that he and Elrohir might at last depart.

The brethren were relieved when their grandparents showed no sign of any knowledge of Elladan’s indiscretion. They were not sanguine that either would remain ignorant of it for long—failing the efficacy of the city grapevine in spreading news faster than wildfire, there was always their grandam’s mirror to enlighten her as to the goings on in the Golden Wood. 

Elladan did not particularly care so long as he was long gone by then. He did not think he would be able to endure their censure on top of his own unrelenting guilt.

They did not stay long after Celeborn and Galadriel’s return but left Lothlórien as soon as they decently could.

* * * *

Their arrival in Imladris little more than a month later was greeted with much relief and joy.

Elrond made no secret of his desire for them to forego their questing and return to their lives previous to their mother’s leave-taking. Arwen was even more vocal about it and Elrohir at length clapped his hand over her mouth in a desperate bid to shush her. But it was his grumbled remark about what Aragorn would have made of her had he been around to hear her now that effectively reduced her to blushing silence. Elrond did not know whether to be amused or troubled by his daughter’s reaction.

Elladan looked about the courtyard, noting that most of the household had come out to welcome them. It was always thus when they came home for a visit. But there was something missing. Someone.

He sighed, wondering where Glorfindel had taken himself off to. But he did not ask about the captain’s whereabouts. A part of him was relieved that he did not have to face him just yet. Not while he still grappled with feelings of guilt and regret.

The twins headed for their chambers, eager for a long, hot soak to wash off the grime of long travel and ease the faint soreness from their muscles, an unfortunate consequence of their Half-elven heritage. Indeed, it was with much gratitude that Elladan felt the warm water soothe his tired frame though he wondered if his lassitude had more to do with his low spirits than true physical weariness.

Afterwards, he toweled himself dry and slipped into a sleeping shirt and trousers. A corner of his mouth quirked in some humor. It had been long since he’d last worn bed clothing with the intention of actually sleeping in them. He stepped out of the bathing chamber, running his fingers through his damp hair.

“Welcome home, _pen neth_.”—young one.

Elladan caught his breath in some shock when he laid eyes upon the tall Elf who stood by his window, his tresses gleaming with fiery light as the lowering sun cast a veritable palette of titian hues upon all that its rays touched. He was simply attired in a thin snowy shirt and long pale grey breeches. Barefooted, his shirt left unfastened and his golden hair streaming loose down his back, he presented a picture that could undo any Elf.

“I— Where-where were you, Glorfindel?” Elladan half stammered, so surprised was he by the Noldo’s unexpected presence in his room. And so resplendent a presence at that.

Glorfindel shrugged as he slowly approached the twin. “A captain’s work is never done,” he lightly replied. “And you? I trust you did not run into trouble after we parted?”

Elladan could not help the sudden flush that burned his cheeks. “Why do you say that?” he said without thinking.

Again the captain shrugged. “You and your brother seek trouble when you ride away,” he pointed out. “It stands to reason that you will most likely find it if you look hard enough.”

“Ah, but of course…” Elladan faltered as strong hands grasped his shoulders and kneaded them with just the right amount of pressure to elicit a pleasurable frisson in his limbs. Elbereth, but Glorfindel knew just how to unravel him with a simple look or touch. Or kiss.

He was summarily pulled into a scorching embrace followed by an invasion of his mouth of such scalding intensity that he found himself gasping for breath as he had not since his long ago adolescence. Had Glorfindel ever kissed him like that before? He could not be certain. He could not think straight to be sure of anything but that his knees would give way soon and he would fall if Glorfindel did not keep his hold on him.

But the captain did not release him and only pulled him even closer until Elladan felt as if he were being swallowed whole. He was no timid innocent but Glorfindel’s near brutal ministrations left him breathless with hunger and elation.

It was rare for the captain to evince such possessiveness with him but when he did it always set Elladan’s heart and spirit soaring. Now was no exception and he wrapped his arms as tightly around his lover, eagerly returning each and every kiss and caress, sliding his hands under the captain’s shirt to feel the smooth flesh and sleek muscles of his back.

That seemed to unleash something within Glorfindel for he suddenly hauled Elladan’s shirt from his shoulders and down his arms, uncaring of rending fabric and popping clasps. Inflamed by such an effusive show of lust, the twin reached down and hurriedly loosened the captain’s breech laces. That in turn incited Glorfindel to turn him about and walk him backward to the bed without ever parting their lips. Only when Elladan’s legs nudged the edge of the bed did he let him go. 

Elladan gasped as he was tumbled onto the waiting mattress, Glorfindel yanking his trousers down as he did.

He watched in a daze while the captain swiftly stripped off his clothing. Hardly had Glorfindel cast them to one side when he joined the twin, pinning him down with his body. And virtually ravished him though Elladan was far from an unwilling victim.

The next several minutes proved a blur of sensation and imagery for Elladan. Of the breathtaking pillaging of his mouth. And the lusty sweep of tongue and sharp nip of teeth on his throat and shoulders. The befuddling and inordinately lengthy suckle of his nipples. And the blissful grind of hips and slide of hardened lengths against each other. Culminating in being sucked within an inch of his life and milked of every drop of his seed, leaving him so spent he did not have the strength to protest further onslaughts. Which is probably what Glorfindel intended.

He did not wait for Elladan to recover but took him swiftly and peremptorily, barely giving his lover time to adjust to his breaching before he began to drive into him.

“Elbereth!” Elladan gasped, the dual sensations of mild pain and fierce pleasure making it difficult for him to think much less speak coherently. “Have a care, Glorfindel! I—”

Glorfindel sealed their lips together, cutting him off. Elladan groaned into Glorfindel’s mouth as the captain sank deeply into him with every plunge of his shaft. He grasped Glorfindel’s arms, bracing himself against the bruising thrusts. The discomfort faded while the rapture spiraled.

Glorfindel drew back slightly, his eyes never leaving Elladan’s face. The twin caught his breath at the intense glitter in the depths of the ocean-hued pools. He vaguely thought that it almost seemed as if Glorfindel was committing his features to memory. For the captain’s gaze lingered long on every one of them. And then there was no more room for thought, lucid or not, when Glorfindel reached between them to grip Elladan’s turgid shaft and stroke it to release.

With a muffled cry, Elladan found completion, his body wracked by tremors, powerless against the surge of ecstasy. He heard his name tightly whispered just before he was pierced one last time and he felt the flow of liquid warmth within. Glorfindel dropped his head into the crook of his neck for a few moments and naught but their shallow breathing broke the silence.

Elladan held him close, marveling at the intensity of what they had just shared. A faint shiver of shame unsettled him as he wondered how he could ever have thought any other capable of assuaging his relentless need for his glorious lover. Or that the soiling of his promise could even begin to lessen his sense of betrayal and frustration.

At length, Glorfindel raised his head. Elladan closed his eyes as he felt the other’s gaze alight on his face again. 

There was something about the captain’s concentrated stare that unnerved him. He expelled a shaky breath when he felt Glorfindel’s fingers slide along his jaw and up his cheek to cup the side of his face in his warm palm.

“Elladan, look at me.”

The whispered command could not be ignored and the twin obeyed. He found himself staring into intently searching eyes. Eyes that seemed overly bright with some gutting emotion. But before he could ask Glorfindel what it was he sought, the captain rolled off him, lay back and quietly stared at the coffered ceiling. 

Elladan regarded him curiously for a while then snaked an arm around him and rested his head on his lover’s shoulder. He would question Glorfindel later. For now, he would enjoy the aftermath of their edacious coupling. Contentment seeped into every corner of his mind and he sighed with the felicity of it.

“I have not felt so sated in many years,” he murmured.

“Why?” Glorfindel inquired with deceptive gentleness. “Did the fair Rúmil not see to your every need? Was his girth not enough to fill you to bursting?”

Elladan went utterly still in shock for several heartbeats before he jerked his head up to stare at Glorfindel. 

The captain’s eyes were as glacial as the floes that littered the Bay of Forochel. He abruptly withdrew from Elladan’s arms and slipped out of the bed. Without a word, he began to draw on his clothing.

Elladan tried to speak but found he could not utter a word. Foremost in his mind was the question of how Glorfindel had uncovered his indiscretion when his grandparents had not. He did not count on Glorfindel guessing his thoughts and accurately so.

“Some of my warriors escorted your grandparents until their guards came to meet them,” he hissed as he angrily laced his breeches. “There are some matters that the common folk will not speak of before their masters but will freely divulge amongst their fellows. And the Geledhil had much to crow about to my men. For after all, ‘twas one of their own who had managed to entice the Lord Elladan from the Balrog slayer’s bed and not an Elf of Imladris. I suppose it was too much to ask it of such proud soldiers that they hold their tongues and not carry the tale to their captain.”

He glared icily at Elladan. “Well, would you care to add anything to that?”

Still stricken mute, Elladan blanched as he fully comprehended the means by which Glorfindel had learned of his cuckolding. He could not even begin to imagine how the captain had reacted upon hearing such shaming news.

“I was such a want-wit to have trusted you,” Glorfindel ground out as he pulled on his shirt. “Better to have treated with an Orc. At least one always knows where one stands with those treacherous creatures!”

This spurred Elladan into speech, stung as he was that he should be rebuked for this single act of inconstancy after centuries of unflinching loyalty. And by one who was hardly a paragon of said virtue.

“Why do you assail me so?” he cried. “Only this once have I strayed and you would make of me a faithless wanton!”

“Faithless you are indeed,” Glorfindel snapped. “You swore that you were mine and mine alone. Wherefore your avowals of eternal devotion now, Elrondion?”

“Avowals you did not treasure as I had hoped,” Elladan countered.

“Did not treasure?” Glorfindel echoed incredulously. “What think you was my greatest comfort whenever you rode away into the Wild?”

That took Elladan aback, but the memory of what he had witnessed proved the more potent. “Yet you did not hesitate to bring others into your bed as soon as I was gone,” he pointed out acridly.

Glorfindel stared at him as if he had grown two horns. “What others?” he demanded. “Name one and I will own myself an infidel.”

“In Lórien,” Elladan hotly retorted. “I saw her as she departed your chamber, and just moments after you followed. I know not her name but I saw enough to tell me what sport you’d had with her after turning me away!”

“What in Arda are you talking about?” Glorfindel exclaimed, looking totally perplexed. Then his face suddenly cleared and his eyes widened in comprehension. An instant later, they darkened in angry disbelief.

“Plague take you, Elladan!” he growled. “Did you not recognize the wife of your grandfather’s chief scribe?”

Elladan stared at him surprise. “You dallied with another Elf’s spouse?” he gasped in even greater shock.

“I dallied with no one,” Glorfindel forcefully averred. “I have had none but you in all these years!” 

At Elladan’s skeptical expression, he continued tightly. “Mithrandir’s summons came with a request for any records on the Rings of Power that Lórien harbored. I was tasked with retrieving them and had to rouse Nimorn and his lady from sleep. I requested them to send whatever they could find to my quarters. As fortune had it—or perhaps I should say _mis_ fortune—some fool of an Elf came to the stables with ale for the soldiers and the clumsy oaf spilled most of it on me instead. I returned to my room for a fresh shirt just as Nimorn’s wife arrived with the records I had asked for.”

Elladan gaped at him in horrified stupefaction. “Sweet Eru,” he finally whispered. “I did not realize—! Ah, Glorfindel, forgive me, I—”

“Spare me your apologies, vow-breaker,” Glorfindel barked. “You had no faith in me. Yet you asked me to have faith in you.”

He strode towards the door, face white with fury. Elladan called to him desperately.

“Glorfindel, wait!”

Whatever he had thought to say died on his lips when the captain suddenly trained eyes brimming with pain, disillusionment and humiliation on him.

“You promised me eternal love and abiding fidelity as _she_ did,” Glorfindel said, his voice rough and shaking with the force of his fraught feelings. “But your words have proved as hollow as hers. I should have known better than to believe in so obvious a falsity as second chances. ‘Tis nothing more than a myth to salve the hearts of fools and lunatics.”

On that bitter note, he left, slamming the door shut behind him. For the longest moment, Elladan could only stare in stunned silence. And then he bowed his head in crushing regret. His anguish was sensed by one other who was so attuned to his every mood that it resounded through the very walls as if he had cried out loud.

Only a few moments passed before Elrohir burst into the room, expecting the worst. And finding it. 

He swiftly clambered onto the bed and gathered his distraught brother in his arms. Elladan turned his ashen, tear-streaked face into his shoulder.

“He knows, Elrohir,” he harshly sobbed, desolation limning ever word. “He knows and he has cast me away. Ah, Valar, I have lost him!”

Elrohir caught his breath, aghast that what he had feared had come to pass so swiftly. But he found himself at a loss for an adequate response. For once he had no words of solace to offer his twin. For in truth, though he was loath to admit it, he was perforce in agreement with Elladan.

In all likelihood, that which had been so meticulously crafted over the centuries had with one stroke been shattered. Whether it was irrevocably so remained to be seen. But that was of little comfort to the twin who brokenly wept in his brother’s arms.

**************  
Glossary:  
Geledhil – Tree-elves  
Elrondion – son of Elrond

_To be continued…_


	10. IX.

_Yavië_ T.A. 2978  
“Elladan, look yonder.”

The older of Elrond’s sons glanced to the east, following the direction of his brother’s gaze. He reined in his ebony-hued steed when he espied a party of horsemen swiftly traversing the plain between them and the Misty Mountains. One glimpse of the colors and markings on their raiment told the twins whence they hailed.

With a nod at Elrohir, Elladan pointed his warhorse toward the approaching riders and urged it into a brisk trot. The brethren rode to meet the troop of Imladrin Elves.

They had had just ended a three-year watch in a strange country called the Shire. At Gandalf the Grey’s behest, the Dúnedain of the north now guarded the borders of the little folk who called themselves Hobbits and Elladan and Elrohir oft joined them in their vigils. Why the Wizard thought it necessary and urgently so he would not say. Not when he was till uncertain as to the nature of the thing that needed guarding.

The twins in conjunction with their foster brother Aragorn already knew something of Gandalf’s concerns. What they did not know, they guessed. But they did not press the Wizard for more information. Gandalf would reveal all when he deemed the moment right and Elrond’s sons trusted him completely. Saruman may have been appointed head of the order of the Istari but in the twins’ opinion, Mithrandir would have been the better choice.

Their turn at watch done, the brethren thought to join Aragorn in Gondor where last they heard he served the Steward Ecthelion as one mysterious Thorongil. They had ridden across Eriador with Aragorn’s cousin Halbarad and his men, parting from them only when the Rangers decided to cross over the mountains and head east. The twins had been about to turn back and seek the Greenway and thence proceed to the Gap of Rohan and on to the Southern Kingdom when they caught sight of the Imladrin Elves.

The troop was now near enough for them to distinguish faces. Elladan drew a sharp breath when he recognized their leader. His golden hair brightly gleaming in the morning sun, there was no mistaking Rivendell’s valorous captain for another. Elladan fought to steady the sudden erratic beat of his heart.

It was nigh five and twenty years since he’d exchanged more than cursory greetings with Glorfindel. Five and twenty years since their relationship or whatever it was that passed for one had come undone. And not merely because of a single act of faithlessness, but also due to the careless breaking of a vow. That was not surprising and had Elladan been of a mind to heed reason, he would have realized this from the first.

Powerful oaths had brought the Noldor back to Middle-earth in the First Age. Had led Fëanor and his sons to commit treachery and genocide and other atrocities. Had held Fingolfin’s people to the road into banishment even through the horror of the Helcaraxë. Had sustained the Exiles through five centuries of continued strife and sorrow and unimaginable loss.

An oath of fealty from vassal to king in particular had ensured the survival of the one who had won salvation for Middle-earth in that dark time just before the Great Battle. That oath had demanded the highest price of all—a life for a life. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had paid that price in full that a child of destiny might live.

Elladan shuddered inwardly as he recalled from long ago Glorfindel’s words of caution when he had declared his love to the captain and sworn to its upholding. If there were any who would hold such vows implacably sacrosanct and inviolate, it would be he who had kept his own even unto a gruesome death and renewed life. The older twin wished with all his heart that he had remembered this ere he committed his error.

“‘Twas not all your doing, _tôren_.”—my brother.

The Elf-warrior looked at his twin. Elrohir returned his gaze knowingly.

“You were heart-sick. Distraught,” the younger Peredhel quietly said. “And Glorfindel had offered you little to stave off your fears.”

“There is no defending my actions,” Elladan bleakly retorted.

“Your actions, nay,” Elrohir agreed. “But the reason for it is not beyond understanding. Or compassion.”

“I do not care to go over this again,” the older twin protested.

“Yet I will repeat it as oft as I must,” Elrohir countered. “Until you stop berating yourself and know some peace.”

“What peace?” Elladan snorted bitterly. “There is no rest for the foresworn.”

“Only if they remain unredeemed,” the Elf-knight pointed out. He paused then proceeded with caution. “If you would but approach him anew—”

“And what, Elrohir?” Elladan interjected. “So that I may look into his eyes and see in them aught but the regard I once knew? To perforce brave the chill of his voice or the distance in his manner?" He shook his head. “I cannot do it, _gwanneth_.”—younger twin. “I have not the strength to fight for his esteem once more.”

“Elladan—”

But the older twin spurred his horse into a gallop, signaling his desire to end the conversation. Elrohir sighed and did likewise.

Glorfindel hailed them easily enough. There was no stiffness in his demeanor or unease in his voice. To any who did not know him, he seemed warm and welcoming with both brethren. 

But the twins knew him all too well and neither failed to notice the slightly cooler hue his eyes took on when they alighted on the older twin. Though stung, Elladan somehow took it in stride.

“Whence have you come, captain?” he asked with all propriety.

“From Lothlórien,” Glorfindel replied. “Your sister desired to visit the Golden Wood and it fell to me to ensure her safety.”

“And how does Lórien fare?” Elrohir ventured.

“Hale and whole,” the captain said. “The Galadhrim do not suffer any to do harm to their forest.”

There was no need to speak out loud of the true power that held evil at bay in that realm. Few knew what the Lady of the Wood wielded to secure her people’s safety. Best to keep matters that way.

“Arwen is well, I presume?” Elladan queried.

“She is well though she seldom smiles these days,” Glorfindel gravely answered. “But she asked me to convey to you her love should I meet you and that she misses you. Your grandparents, too, have marked your long absence from their woods.” He hesitated then and his manner turned distinctly more aloof. “And certain of the Geledhil asked after you,” he continued. “And expressed their hopes that you would grace Lothlórien with your presence soonest.”

Elladan paled at this last statement. Glorfindel’s tone told him that it was no intended gibe the captain had cast at him. He had delivered the messages exactly as they had been put to him however distasteful he may have found his charge to be.

_Valar! _Elrohir thought with vexation upon noting his twin’s sudden pallor. _What had possessed Rúmil to dare so obvious an affront?_ A moment later, he acknowledged to himself that the reason was no great mystery.__

__Rúmil could not have failed to notice Elladan’s obvious cooling toward him in the wake of their ill-founded affair. That would have been a most injurious blow to the young warden’s pride. What better way to salve it than to throw in Glorfindel’s face the fact that, brief though it had been, he had lured the captain’s supposedly exclusive lover into his bed. The only Elf to have succeeded since before the beginning of Elladan’s liaison with the legendary warrior._ _

__A part of Elrohir wanted to ride at once to the Golden Wood and personally throttle Haldir’s brother for his loose tongue. But the other more reasonable part could not truly think evil of the guard for he knew there was no malice involved but only hurt feelings and dented pride._ _

__Nevertheless, more damage had been inflicted on the already brittle connection that still lingered between his brother and the captain. More than ever, Elladan would be reluctant to make a move in this encounter to effect reconciliation with Glorfindel. If he had not already been disheartened by previous rebuffs, this latest addition to the imbroglio would take care of accomplishing it in full._ _

__“Do you travel elsewhere?” Glorfindel was asking. “Or will you return to Imladris for a time? Your father misses you terribly.”_ _

__Elrohir looked at Elladan. He would leave it to his brother to decide their course. He would have liked to return to the vale and spend a season with their father but he deferred to Elladan knowing how discomfited he was by the speculation surrounding him and Glorfindel._ _

__Elrond knew of the break between his older son and the golden Elf-lord. Indeed, all Rivendell was aware of it. But astonishingly, none knew the cause behind it. Glorfindel had kept his silence and such was his warriors’ loyalty to him that the few who had brought the news of Elladan’s affair to him had kept it to themselves, refusing to share it even with their fellows. But such secrecy naturally spurred curiosity. And so long had their liaison lasted that, even after a quarter century, the interest in its sudden ending had not waned._ _

__Elladan felt his brother’s eyes on him and knew what Elrohir longed for but would not insist upon for his sake. He came to a decision._ _

__“We will ride back with you,” he informed Glorfindel._ _

____

* * * *

Less than two days later, Elladan rescinded his decision.

They had been riding amidst the other warriors when he suddenly turned his steed and moved to the rear of the troop. Gesturing to Glorfindel not to halt, Elrohir followed him.

“ _Gwaniuar_ ”—older twin—“what is wrong?” he asked as soon as he came alongside his brother.

Elladan sighed. “I feel under siege,” he said. He indicated the Elven warriors with a tilt of his head. “Among them are those who informed Glorfindel of my folly and I can sense their disdain for me behind their respectful demeanors. They blame me for our rift and I cannot fault them. Anymore than I can fault him for keeping his distance from me.”

“Ignore them,” Elrohir urged him.

“I try but ‘tis useless,” Elladan said. “Not when he treats me with such cool civility before them. If he would only show me some warmth, I could bear the contempt even of all Imladris, but he does not, Elrohir. He still holds me from him in all ways.” He drew a shaky breath. “I wish to leave,” he announced.

Elrohir stared at him in dismay. “But what of _Ada_?”—Papa—he said. “You heard Glorfindel. He misses us. And I miss him, Elladan. As do you.” He reached out and grasped his brother’s hand. “Take heart, we will be home soon and you will no longer feel their scorn.”

“But I will know _his_ ,” Elladan disconsolately said. “At council and meals or a chance encounter in one of the passageways or in the evenings in the Hall of Fire. I cannot, _muindor_ ”—brother—he murmured. “I cannot go back and endure his cold courtesy day after day.”

Elrohir sighed. It had been too much to hope for after all. “What do you wish to do then?” he gently queried.

“To go as we had planned,” Elladan replied. “Estel will welcome our company.”

Elrohir lifted his gaze to the north; to where Rivendell lay and Elrond patiently awaited their return. He noted his brother’s averted eyes and swiftly lowered his. “Very well, let us inform Glorfindel of this.”

Elladan shook his head. “Nay, you see to it, Elrohir,” he requested. “I have no stomach for another frigid exchange with him.”

Elrohir frowned. “What would you have me tell him? That we shall leave at once?”

Elladan looked about him as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. The sun was riding low in the sky; it would be dusk soon. The Elves were already seeking a suitable place to set up camp.

“We will stay for the night,” he decided. “But I would we be off at first light tomorrow.”

Elrohir regarded him solemnly for a long while. Finally, he nodded and guided his grey steed toward Glorfindel. 

He came up beside the captain and at once told him of their change of plans. When he was in a less than affable mood, Elrohir could be very abrupt indeed. Glorfindel regarded him with surprise.

“Leave? But what of your wish to visit your father?” he said.

Elrohir glanced over his shoulder at his twin. Glorfindel followed suit. “Circumstances dictate otherwise,” the Elf-knight murmured.

Glorfindel regarded him somberly. “‘Tis Elladan who wants this,” he said. The Elf-knight affirmed this with a slight incline of his head. “Why, Elrohir?”

The younger twin looked at him sadly. “Can you not guess?” he asked.

Faint color stained the captain’s cheeks. Noting this, Elrohir felt the slenderest of hope surge within him. Perhaps all was not lost, he considered.

“He loves you,” he said suddenly, bluntly.

That caught Glorfindel off guard. He stared reprovingly at his companion. “He broke his word,” he replied tersely.

“Aye, he did,” Elrohir agreed. “And he has paid for it, Glorfindel. Or are you so blinded by your umbrage that you do not see the steady dwindling of his spirit?” He saw the slight tightening of the captain’s mouth. Encouraged, he stated, “‘Twas not out of lack of love for you that he took Rúmil to his bed.”

Glorfindel’s lips straightened to a grim line at the mere mention of the Galadhel’s name. A telling response. 

Elrohir pressed on. “He was enraged. He thought himself duped. But had he known of your previous brush with betrayal, he would not have chosen that means to vent his ire. Aye, he told me what you said to him,” he added when Glorfindel turned a questioning look on him. “And had he realized what you had endured then, he would not have done as she did. I thought at the time that ‘twas retribution he sought. But now I understand ‘twas no more than a means of buttressing his sense of his own worth. You did not seem to cherish what he offered you and so he turned to one who did. He believed it would not matter to you for you seldom if ever displayed a desire for his—exclusive regard. But it does matter, doesn’t it?”

Glorfindel’s eyes hardened. But Elrohir had known him long enough to discern the difference between true spite and pained anger.

“You defend what he did?” the captain challenged.

The Elf-knight shook his head. “There is no excuse for oath-breaking if the oath was uttered willingly. But I would like to think that there is room for forgiveness,” he softly said.

 _There._ The clenching of the captain’s hand on Asfaloth’s snowy mane was a dead giveaway.

“You were ever in his thoughts even when he was with Rúmil,” Elrohir added, suspecting the belief otherwise had hurt the Noldorin Elf far more deeply than he let on. He rammed his point home. “Yours is still the only sword he has ever sheathed, captain.”

Glorfindel’s face did not change but he could not conceal the sudden gleam that flared in his eyes. Elrohir recognized that light and stifled a triumphant smile. 

There was no mistaking the relief he’d glimpsed in the captain’s eyes. Relief that could only have stemmed from deep-seated jealousy. Elladan had told his twin enough for Elrohir to know what this revelation would mean to Glorfindel.

It was no trivial thing to the proud Noldo that a soldier should yield to another, even among the fierce female warriors who served under his command. Upon the battlefield, one depended on one’s comrades in ways few non-combatants comprehended. This sense of kinship was rooted in absolute trust and so ingrained was it in the finest warriors that it oft spilled into their personal lives. Baldly put, to allow another into one’s body bespoke wholly entrusting one’s self to another.

In his first life, he had known this with only a scant handful of _ellyn_ , noble soldiers all. In his second existence, only Elladan had gained his surrender. Elrohir suspected that his brother’s refusal to yield to any save Glorfindel had as much to do with the captain’s capitulation as his desire to succor his lover when he’d had dire need of it. 

For Glorfindel to have thought that Elladan had bestowed upon another this self-same gesture of utmost trust—Elrohir imagined the captain’s pain must have been threefold that which he had known with the unknown Elf-maid who had won his heart in Gondolin and shattered it so utterly that Glorfindel still bore the wounds unhealed to this day. For Elladan was alike to the captain in ways that she could not have been being not only an _ellon_ of highest birth, but also a warrior of fearsome repute. For Elladan to have broken faith knowing what that would do to Glorfindel’s growing yet still fragile confidence in him was a betrayal not easily forgotten or pardoned.

The clenched hand loosened its hold then tightened once more. Glorfindel of a sudden trained his gaze on the Elf-knight. Elrohir managed to meet it unflinchingly but it took all his resolve to do so. _Small wonder his foes waver before his charge_ , he thought. _His stare is enough to unman them._

“There could be room,” the captain slowly said. “If the grounds are...sufficient.”

His quick temper flaring as brightly as his hope, Elrohir narrowed his eyes. “Very well then, if his love is not enough reason, I can think of others,” he snapped. “What of his abject misery or his flaying remorse? Or that I have not seen his smile or heard his laughter these many years? Or his utter disregard for his safety even unto the brink of death?”

Glorfindel looked hard at him. “What do you mean?” he sharply asked.

Elrohir’s belligerence subsided, fear for his brother overtaking his ire. “He has ceased to value his life,” he mournfully recounted. “He throws himself into battle with little thought for defense. I can no longer recall how many times I have thought him lost to us. Did we not ride with the Dúnedain so often I warrant he would have run on his ruin long afore. They know enough to guard his back as I have since we rode away when you—” 

He stopped, swallowing with difficulty when memory of that doleful day shadowed his thoughts. In a hushed voice he stated, “If we go now, I fear that next we return to Imladris, ‘twill only be I who will still draw breath.”

He could no longer meet Glorfindel’s piercing gaze when his eyes blurred with hard-fought tears. The dread of losing his brother to a senseless death waxed greater than ever before. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and he turned his head to find the captain regarding him with pained eyes.

“You will not lose him, Elrohir,” Glorfindel quietly declared. “I will not allow it.”

Elrohir took a deep breath, forcing calm upon himself. “Pity will not save him,” he replied.

Glorfindel shook his head. “Nor will I offer it,” he said. “But I will speak with him. And if he is truly mine, he will hearken to me.”

The Elf-knight felt his heart swell with more than slender hope. “He will hearken to you."

*********************************  
Glossary:  
Yavië – Quenya for early autumn, roughly August and September  
Geledhil (sing. Galadhel) – Tree-elves  
ellyn (sing. ellon) – male Elves

_To be continued…_


	11. X.

The Elves encamped by a small spring in a spacious clearing hidden by stout trees and thick brush. They were little more than a day’s ride from Rivendell. Though no place was truly secure beyond the bounds of the hidden vale, this patch of land so close to the elven refuge was safer than most. The Elves did not completely relax their watchfulness but they could rest with more ease than they had previously done.

As soon as he’d partaken of the evening meal and washed off the grime of travel, Elladan took leave of his brother and slipped away, seeking solitude in one of the small glades nearby. Here, away from the curious stares of some and the reproachful glances of others, he tried to find some peace of mind if not of heart or spirit.

But his thoughts inevitably strayed to his unhappy predicament and he was hard-pressed not to sink further into despondency. Leaning against a tall elm, he looked up at the night sky, aching for dawn to arrive that he might part from the troop soonest. And escape the suffocating tension that existed between him and his erstwhile lover. 

So steeped was he in his melancholic reverie that he did not mark the approach of another.

“‘Tis perilous to let down your guard,” Glorfindel mildly admonished him.

Elladan started then straightened. He warily faced the golden-haired Elf. “Wherefore the sentries if not to permit some easing of our vigilance?” he replied.

Glorfindel frowned, recalling Elrohir’s remark about his brother’s disregard for his safety. He came closer to the older twin, noting against his will how his pale skin shone with a silvery sheen in Ithil’s light. Or how his eyes seemed as pools of gleaming argent. With an effort, he set aside his appraisal of his companion’s charms.

“Why, Elladan?” he abruptly asked.

The younger Elf-lord looked long at him, considering the terse question. He did not need further expounding to know that Glorfindel was asking him why he had believed him capable of duplicity that fateful night. At length, he lowered his gaze and folded his arms in a defensive pose.

“You had been so distant with me beforehand,” he softly explained. “I wondered why and when I saw her, I thought ‘twas because you had permitted others to see to your needs when I could not.”

Glorfindel stared at him in surprise. “I thought you trusted me as much as you asked me to trust you,” he remarked with some acerbity.

He regretted the words the instant Elladan visibly flinched. The twin quickly turned to go, but Glorfindel espied the portentous glistening in his eyes and the biting of his lip. At once, he grasped Elladan’s arm and prevented him from leaving.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “That was unwarranted.”

Elladan did not look at him but trained his eyes unseeingly on the dark beyond the trees. “You need not remind me of my perfidy,” he tightly said. “I know it all too well.”

Glorfindel sighed and, taking hold of Elladan’s other arm, compelled the twin to face him. “It would seem you had just cause,” he conceded.

Elladan was momentarily taken aback by what sounded like a conciliatory statement. But then he shook his head and said, “Since when has there been just cause for oath-breaking?”

“Perhaps none,” Glorfindel agreed. “But ‘tis not always beyond redemption if one was driven to it by...circumstances.”

It was Elladan’s turn to stare. Without thinking, he blurted out: “Then why, Glorfindel? Why were you so aloof from me?”

Sadness suddenly shadowed the captain’s jewel eyes. “To preserve myself,” he gravely replied. 

At Elladan’s puzzled reaction, he exhaled slowly and continued. “Your questing took its toll on me though I did not expect it. At first, ‘twas not so difficult to bear. But then you began to ride farther afield and stay away ever longer. And when you returned, ‘twas only for the briefest of visits. After decades of your absence, it was no easy matter to make do with mere weeks of your company, mayhap a month or two if I was fortunate enough to merit it.”

He lifted a hand to caress the twin’s face; lowered it before his fingers touched skin. “Too soon you would ride away again and always into peril. And none could say if you would return whole and safe. I came to fear for you each time you would depart. And your too fleeting sojourns with me were never enough to assuage that fear.” He paused, seeing Elladan’s stunned expression. “The only way I could numb some of that fear was to step back and desist from immersing myself in your company those few times we came together.”

Elladan cried, “Why did you not tell me?!”

“I did, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Glorfindel said. “Each and every time I asked you to lay down your arms and remain at your father’s side.”

Recollection washed over Elladan. Yes, Glorfindel had requested this of him frequently enough in the last century. But he had assumed that it was on behalf of Elrond who did not desist from informing his sons of his opinion of their errantry. It had not occurred to him that the pleas were for Glorfindel’s own sake.

“I did not understand,” he said. A tear trickled unbidden down his cheek. He made no move to brush it away. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

“As am I,” the captain somberly admitted.

“For what?” Elladan asked in bemusement. “‘Twas I who played you false.”

“And I who made you doubt your worth,” Glorfindel pointed out.

The older twin was stricken dumb for several seconds by the uncharacteristic admission of a blunder. When he found his tongue, he could only ask half hopefully, half fearfully: “Am I forgiven then?”

Glorfindel lifted his hand once more and this time ran his knuckles lightly down the line of Elladan’s cheek, eliciting a shuddery inhalation from the twin. He silently nodded.

Elladan swallowed hard. “Would that you had told me about what she had done,” he choked.

Glorfindel frowned slightly. “To what end?”

“I would not have done the same,” Elladan said. “Not if I had known how deeply it would pain you.”

The captain’s mouth tightened. “I could not bring myself to speak of her actions. Even now, I loathe the very memory of it.”

The older twin gazed at him searchingly. ‘But—did you forgive her?” he cautiously queried, seeking reassurance of his lover’s pardon in the only parallel to his own situation. “Did you give her a second chance?”

Glorfindel’s eyes darkened, whether in grief or anger Elladan could not say. “Gondolin fell,” he simply said.

Elladan sucked in his breath as the full implication of that statement registered. Unresolved resentment. Unmitigated hurt. No wonder Glorfindel was so skittish about such matters. And why he had taken Elladan’s affair so hard.

“I love only you, Glorfindel,” he fervently declared, anxious to reaffirm his commitment to the Noldorin Elf. “There is no other. Rúmil was just—”

“Do not speak his name!” Glorfindel said with startling vehemence.

Elladan winced at this evidence of his lover’s bitterness about his indiscretion. He stepped back reflexively as if to avoid a blow. But Glorfindel caught him by the waist and pulled him hard against him.

“Glorfindel, I did not mean to—” he began.

“I want you,” Glorfindel growled. “ _Now._ ”

Elladan gasped when his mouth was summarily captured and ravaged in a kiss of such molten proportions that his mind all but ceased to function properly. Within moments, only sensation remained and the sweet, savage thrill that raced through his very veins.

They undressed each other with near furious haste, not truly conscious of how they went about it. Once he had Elladan stripped down to his skin, Glorfindel wasted no time on niceties but bore the twin down upon his cloak, his hands and lips already engaged in pillaging the latter’s abundant graces.

The onslaught almost undid Elladan even without the benefit of more intimate re-acquaintance with the most sensitive regions of his body. But in the midst of his passion, memory threatened to blight his happiness. Glorfindel’s shining locks served to remind him of the other fair-haired Elf with whom he had misguidedly dallied and, hard on its heels, the shame and guilt that had followed. He shivered inwardly as the dire need to erase the effects of these recollections flooded his consciousness.

Acting on sheer instinct, he surprised Glorfindel though not unpleasantly so when he rolled them both over and swiftly straddled the captain. He bent to pleasure his lover in the exact same manner with which he had initiated his first bedding of his illicit tryst-mate. But with a difference and a great one.

With the Lórien guard, it had been about conquest and the proving of his own potent charisma. No such vested motives entered the picture now. Only pure wanting and the desire to re-connect.

With every kiss and fondle and slide of flesh against flesh, he replaced each troubling memory with another fervently coveted one. The woodsy Silvan scent gave way before that impossible to describe Valinor-tinged fragrance. All thought of pale gleaming skin was swept away in the presence of incandescent flesh lit from within. In place of a Wood-elf’s melodious cries were the deep, dulcet calls of a Noldorin lord. Inexorably, the memory of the Galadhel’s slender archer’s frame was supplanted by a legend’s lean but powerful swordman’s form.

If all these had not completely expunged remembrance of his error and its disastrous aftermath, his engulfment of Glorfindel’s turgid flesh demolished the last of it. For there were few so dauntingly endowed as he and the very act of suckling that formidable length was sufficient to remind Elladan of his lover’s magnificence. He smiled around a hot mouthful when the needful raking of the warrior’s fingers through his dark hair told him how welcome his ministrations were.

A rough gasp and a sudden buck of Glorfindel’s hips preceded generous spurts of gorgeous cream. Elladan hungrily downed it, his warm tongue lapping up every last drop that clung to the captain’s shaft. With a sigh, he crawled up the length of Glorfindel’s body and gazed down at his lover. The fair-haired Elf looked back at him, eyes bright with not yet abated lust.

His first words evinced how well he had intuited Elladan’s intent. “If that is how you pleasured the Wood-elf, ‘tis no wonder he pines after you until now,” he softly remarked, no edge hardening his voice.

Elladan smiled in relief. There was no venom in Glorfindel’s comment. It was simply his way of informing him that he knew what the older twin was about. “Almost but not quite,” Elladan murmured.

“Oh? In what way?” Glorfindel asked, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Elladan did not answer but only bent once more to ply his mouth until he felt Glorfindel sufficiently ready for his need. Sitting astride the captain’s hips, he boldly anointed the latter’s resurgent shaft with their combined seed. Eyes trained on his lover, he lowered himself upon the slick flesh. 

A wince of discomfort marked his features as he felt himself pierced. But he did not desist, the closing of his eyes the only other outward sign of the burn within. He felt Glorfindel’s hands on his hips, holding him steady, keeping him from making too rapid a descent. He opened his eyes to meet the captain’s knowing gaze.

“I would not have you hurt yourself in your haste, _pen neth_ ,” Glorfindel said. “There is time enough for you to accustom yourself to this once more.”

It was as much a tacit acknowledgement of what Elladan withheld from all others save him as well as an indication of his characteristic concern for the twin’s pleasure and ease.

“It has been far too long, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—Elladan replied. “I would that you have me now.”

In one smooth motion, he gloved Glorfindel in moist, velvet heat. The Noldorin Elf hissed at the intense pleasure this joining fetched him. As did the sight of Elladan above him, his singular Peredhel beauty in resplendent display in the brilliant moonlight. It was more than enough to unlock the full measure of Glorfindel’s desire.

With a sharp upward thrust, he drove deep into Elladan, eliciting a ragged gasp from the younger warrior. Gritting his teeth against the treacherous urge to keen, Elladan applied himself to riding the shaft that breached him so fulsomely. They moved together, their rhythm as perfectly matched as if they had not known discord between them or the lack of physical intimacy for a quarter of a century.

Pleasure inundated them with each piercing of flesh by flesh. The sounds of their passion resounded in the tiny glade.

Sensing himself near the end of his forbearance, Glorfindel felt a wild need to reclaim his lover as completely as possible. He pushed himself up and caught Elladan flush against him. Grabbing the twin’s waist, he pressed him down again and again upon his shaft, until they were both gasping loudly from the excruciating bliss. He sneaked one hand between them, took hold of Elladan’s swollen length and stroked it rapidly and firmly. With the other, he pulled Elladan into a searing kiss.

Completion overtook the twin first. Held in Glorfindel’s adamantine embrace, he could only shudder helplessly with every spray of his seed against his lover’s belly, his cries smothered by their ravenous kiss. His muscles clenched repeatedly around Glorfindel’s length, setting off the captain’s release. He heard his name uttered hoarsely against his lips as Glorfindel, with one final thrust, embedded himself to the hilt in his core and spilled himself fully within.

Both breathing harshly and shallowly, they slowly collapsed, Glorfindel still holding Elladan close to him. They did not notice the passage of time as they lay together, striving to calm the frantic beating of their hearts. Eons could have passed and they would not have marked them, so utterly spent were they. Only when they felt their heartbeats slow and their breathing deepen did they become aware of their surroundings again.

Glorfindel let out a shaky breath, still astounded by the heat and ferocity of their coupling. It was blatantly clear that their bodies had languished for the other if this scorching reunion was any indication of it. And more so after having lived with the emotional desert that had loomed in the wake of their parting of ways. 

It called to mind what had led him to withdraw slightly from Elladan, a move that had in turn precipitated the older twin’s feelings of dissatisfaction and spurred him into the misapprehension that had culminated in that accursed affair.

“Will you come home for good?” he quietly asked.

He felt Elladan stiffen a little in his arms. At once he braced himself for a letdown, his features turning impassive lest Elladan espy the extent of his displeasure. The twin however was quick to note the change.

He raised himself on one arm and pressed his lips to the Elf-lord’s, coaxing them to part and permit the gentle ravaging of his mouth. Feeling Glorfindel’s tension seep away, he drew back slightly and gazed into the captain’s eyes, his own imploring for understanding.

“We cannot cease our questing outright,” he softly explained. “We swore to ride with the Dúnedain until Estel or his heirs come into their own.” Feeling Glorfindel begin to tense once more, he hastened to add: “But we can shorten our sojourns abroad and abide in Imladris for longer lengths of time.”

Glorfindel studied him awhile, doubt and the wish to believe warring in his handsome features. Finally he managed a faint smile. “That will be of great comfort to your father,” he said.

Elladan pressed a kiss to the captain’s shoulder. “Only father?” he inquired.

“Myself as well,” Glorfindel gently chuckled. “A warm bed is always pleasing come winter.”

Elladan punched him playfully. “You are an insufferable rogue,” he mirthfully complained.

“Yet you insisted on pursuing me,” Glorfindel remarked. “And relentlessly so, I must add.”

Elladan sighed, his felicity fading slightly. “Will the chase ever end?” he murmured.

Glorfindel raised one golden eyebrow in wry surprise. He ran his fingers through the twin’s raven locks. “‘Tis generally believed that it ended long ago,” he commented.

Elladan bit his lip at the evasive answer. Glorfindel was right, of course. To others, theirs was an established relationship, which was why their falling-out had come as a shock to most. Only Elrohir knew the truth—that the captain had yet to make a verbal declaration of commitment to Elladan.

True, Glorfindel had made known his affection and trust in so many ways. He had completely shed all casual liaisons and chosen to share his bed with Elladan alone. Had given himself to the older twin as he had not to others since his return to life. Had shown himself capable of fierce jealousy and possessiveness of Elladan’s regard.

But his reluctance to voice his feelings left room for doubt. As did his reticence regarding his past life. Elladan could not help questioning if his lover would ever cast off the shadowy yet tenacious memories that shackled him emotionally.

Neither his pensive expression nor his fraught silence was lost on Glorfindel. The captain hesitated then said, “I will try to be more forthcoming.” At the kindling elation in Elladan’s upraised eyes, he hastily cautioned, “But I pray you will not expect overmuch.”

Elladan fondly grinned at him. “I know ‘tis a difficult thing for you to do. I will bide my time, _melethen_.”—my love. He laid his head on the captain’s chest.

Quiet reigned for the next several minutes. At length, Glorfindel murmured, “I would appreciate it if you did not journey to Lórien in the near future.” When Elladan lifted his head and gazed at him frowningly, he pointed out: “‘Twill be easier to keep your distance from temptation if you do not venture near it in the first place.”

Elladan knew a moment’s alarm at this further evidence of the depth of Glorfindel’s pain at his faithlessness. So hurt was he by the incident that he could not bring himself to utter the name of the other Elf who’d figured in the affair however short-lived it had been. Just as he would not speak the name of she who had betrayed him in Gondolin.

“You need not fear anything from that quarter,” Elladan stoutly asserted. “I swear, it will not happen again.”

Fingers against his lips stayed him from saying more. “ _Avo_ , Elladan”—Don’t—Glorfindel said, his tone brooking no opposition. “Make no more promises.”

The older twin gazed at him in some consternation then nodded resignedly. He lowered his head upon Glorfindel’s chest once more and closed his eyes, hiding the ache of realization.

Glorfindel had forgiven him and taken him back. Had gone so far as to admit having had a part in the events that had led to their rift. But he did not fully trust him as he had before. Not after having it crushed all over again by one he held closer to his heart than all others. 

The rebuilding of his lover’s confidence in him would take more than just an ardent night’s worth of couplings. With a quiver of apprehension, Elladan wondered if he had the wherewithal to fight for it once more.

Long, gentle fingers slipped under his chin, compelling him to lift his head and return the captain’s glittering gaze.

“I missed you,” Glorfindel softly told him.

Elladan caught his breath at the tender confession, then beamed. “No more than I missed you,” he whispered.

Their lips met in a lengthy, molten caress. The renewed union of their bodies was not long in following.

******************************  
Glossary:  
Galadhel - Tree-elf

_To be continued…_


	12. XI.

Imladris, _Narquelië_ T.A. 3018  
Glorfindel entered his bedchamber with an audible sigh. It had been a fairly eventful day now that Frodo Baggins had awakened and was up and about. Naturally, Elrond had extended a belated welcome to the intrepid hobbit by way of a feast. He shook his head musingly. 

Was it only four days ago that he had faced the Nazgúl during their attempt to capture the Ring-bearer? It had been a most fearsome dilemma for Rivendell’s captain, taking them on with four terrified Halflings to protect and only one man to aid him. Granted that man had been Aragorn whose skills were not to be taken lightly; the Ranger was easily equal to any ten men in battle. But the odds of prevailing against a passel of mounted foes had been slim at best with him and Aragorn on foot.

So he had done what he could, sending Frodo ahead on Asfaloth, knowing that once the hobbit gained the opposite bank of the Bruinen, he would come under the full protection of Elrond. He had watched with satisfaction when the Riders who’d started to cross the ford were swept away when, at Elrond’s command, the river suddenly rose up against them. That had left him with the remaining Ringwraiths on his side of the river.

He’d rallied Aragorn and the three remaining hobbits, bidding them to set fire to scattered branches and use them against the Wraiths. And still that would not have been enough to drive them into the Loudwater’s raging waters. And so for the second time since his return to Middle-earth, he unleashed the full extent of the power that burned within him. The hobbits had stared at him in awe, Aragorn with respect, as he led the charge against the Nazgúl.

The Wraiths had sensed his lack of fear of them, rendering their greatest weapon all but useless; knew that they faced no ordinary Elf but a great lord of valor and might. Their dismay had given them pause long enough to loosen their control of their dark steeds. 

Maddened by terror at the brilliance of the approaching Elf-warrior and the fiercely flaming torches of his companions, the black horses sought escape by any means or route. Trapped between fire and water, the beasts chose to face the latter and despite their masters’ best efforts to stay them, plunged into the roaring current. It was with relief that Glorfindel saw them founder then vanish beneath the foaming waters. He no longer had to fear for the safety of the others. His next move had been to cross the ford and scoop up young Frodo from where he had fallen from Asfaloth in a swoon.

Now, the hobbit had been properly feted then conducted to the Hall of Fire for an evening of story and song. And to be reunited with his kinsman, old Bilbo Baggins. Glorfindel had smilingly watched them happily greet each other before slipping away to seek his quarters.

He was just drawing himself a hot bath when he was called to his door by insistent knocking. He opened it to Erestor. The counsellor sported a knowing smile on his fair face.

“I thought it would please you to know that the twins have returned.”

* * * *

He knew when it happened. Could pinpoint the exact moment his brother found his match.

The brethren had arrived without warning, called from the Wild by faint forebodings that told them something was either amiss or afoot. They strode into the Last Homely House, oblivious of the avid stares laid on them as they sought their father.

Aragorn came upon them first in the main hallway while on his way to the great hall where the feast in honor of the Ring-bearer was in progress. Eager to hear what tidings they carried, he took them aside and they quickly exchanged news, they informing him of the menacing movements of Orc tribes all over the North and the ominous rumors they had gathered with regard to the Easterlings, and he relaying to them the events that had just transpired, including the perilous presence of the One Ring in hallowed Imladris. 

Elrond soon joined them, having hurriedly left the Hall of Fire upon hearing of their return. Glorfindel also appeared but he kept his silence, allowing the twins their moment of reunion with their sire.

It was then, as he repeated what news they bore to Elrond, that Elladan became aware of his brother’s engaged stare. 

As was his wont, Elrohir had swept the hallway with his gaze, noting all who passed through. His eyes had alighted, however, for an uncommonly long time on a new-come Elf who stood a short distance away.

Clad in the green and brown of the Elvenfolk of Mirkwood, he was relatively young, golden-haired and blue-eyed, and slender of build though his stance marked him as a seasoned warrior. A bowman most likely as were most of the folk of the Woodland Realm. Elrohir’s argent eyes gleamed brightly as he perused the Wood-elf.

It came as no surprise to Elladan when as soon as he had finished speaking with their father, Elrohir inquired after the Silvan archer. With a smile, Elrond beckoned to the Elf who then shyly approached them.

“This is Legolas of Mirkwood, Thranduil’s youngest,” Elrond said. “Legolas, may I present my sons, Elladan and Elrohir.”

Elladan studied Legolas swiftly, realizing that this child of Thranduil’s had been born long after the brethren’s last visit to Mirkwood. That had been many centuries ago when the forest was still known as Eryn Galen, Greenwood the Great.

He greeted Legolas formally then observed with some amusement the faint blush that so charmingly stained the prince’s cheeks when Elrohir warmly welcomed him. And there was something in the tone of Elrohir’s voice; something he’d never heard him use before. 

He looked sharply at his brother and saw the odd gleam in the depths of his eyes. He knew it then. Knew that at long last, Elrohir’s interest had been snared. 

And judging from young Legolas’ rapt expression, that interest was returned in full.

He barely heard Elrond request Aragorn to proceed with him to the Hall of Fire where Arwen awaited him, so curious was he to see how the obvious rapport between his brother and the Mirkwood prince would play out. But any thought of observing them further was shunted aside when he felt the slightest touch on his arm. A touch that sent a jolt of sensation flowing through his very nerves and tempted him to cast dignity aside and greet the captain far more fulsomely than was considered proper in public. 

It was always so when he and Glorfindel met after a long separation.

He managed to stifle his elated grin, tempering it into a small smile and a slight nod that could not conceal his true feelings from any who knew him well. He exchanged a quick glance with his twin ere walking away with Glorfindel; the casual onlooker could be excused for thinking them no more than good friends.

Once within the confines of Glorfindel’s room however, all pretense at nonchalance were promptly dropped. 

Elladan gasped as he was virtually slammed against the door and the captain took possession of his mouth when he opened it to speak. Clothing was discarded with mind-boggling speed and facility and Elladan did not have time to so much as wonder what would happen next before he was pressed hard once more against the door, mouth pillaged and nipples mauled while Glorfindel ground their hips together. 

He groaned as the delicious friction sent tendrils of ecstasy coursing along his limbs all the way to his fingers and heels. The slip and slide of their straining shafts after years of self-denial was enough to set them both on the swift road to completion.

Shuddering in the wake of so combustible an encounter, Elladan weakly laid his head a moment on Glorfindel’s shoulder, smiling to himself when he felt the captain trembling as well. Even one who had slain a Balrog and returned to tell the tale could not control how his body responded to its pleasuring. 

At length, Elladan raised his head to gaze at his lover. Glorfindel blessed him with a slight rakish smirk.

“I had just drawn a hot bath when I learned of your return,” he murmured. “Come, let us put it to good use.”

Put to good use indeed, Elladan agreed wholeheartedly several minutes later as the herbed-laced waters eased the soreness of near non-stop riding from his muscles. Add to that the gentle pressure of Glorfindel’s fingers upon his scalp as he washed the older twin’s raven locks and Elladan thought he might very well fall asleep right where he sat half-sprawled against the captain’s chest.

“Where is your much vaunted forbearance, _pen neth_?—young one—Glorfindel murmured against his ear.

Elladan snorted and half-turned in the Noldo’s arms. “Vanquished for the moment,” he replied. “Valar, Glorfindel, ‘tis no jest to ride almost without cease for days on end. ‘Tis a wonder our steeds did not give out beneath us!” He winced when a particularly sore muscle made itself known.

Glorfindel kneaded the spot until he heard Elladan groan with relief. “Up with you,” he softly commanded. “Best I see to your aches before I demand relief for mine.”

Elladan could not help the deep flush that suffused his face at the captain’s suggestive statement. It had been some years since he’d last been on the receiving end of one of Glorfindel’s bawdy pronouncements. He’d quite forgotten just how shameless the captain could be when there was no audience about to bear witness to their play.

Glorfindel’s ministrations came in the form of a most welcome massage. Lying on his belly, Elladan sighed with felicity with the loosening of each tight knot in his travel-worn body. He felt the supple fingers work their way down his spine, giving wondrous ease wherever they touched. That is until they descended to his firm bottom. 

Elladan caught his breath when the ease was steadily replaced by another kind of tension. A tension that his body wholly approved of if the gradual pooling of pressure in his groin was any indication of said approval.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder and met the captain’s azure eyes before Glorfindel bent to replace his fingers with his tongue. A slow smile spread across Glorfindel’s face as each delve of his tongue wrung faint moans of pleasure from Elladan. When the twin began to push back against the delectable probing, he withdrew and rolled Elladan over.

Holding his lover’s gaze, he slipped his hands behind Elladan’s knees and pushed his legs up and over his shoulders. The twin’s breath hitched as he felt himself pressed down into a position he always found faintly unnerving. Perhaps it was because it rendered him particularly open and vulnerable especially when he lay beneath one of Glorfindel’s splendor.

But Glorfindel almost always initiated their reunions thusly. For in just this position, the joining of their bodies was visible to them both. As was now illustrated when he pressed into his lover. A flick of his eyes and Elladan dropped his to watch his own piercing. 

Under his riveted gaze, Glorfindel slowly eased in and out of him, almost delicately so. In direct contrast to the manner in which he’d taken him just before revealing he’d known about his affair. Elladan wondered whether it was Glorfindel’s way of making amends for the resultant discomfort of that nigh brutal breaching.

Yet the objectives of both acts were one and the same despite the brusqueness of the first and the extreme gentleness of the second. Either way, it was a reclaiming; a reminder of just who owned him. 

Elladan felt the twinge of regret that always came with the blissful sense of belonging. The reminder was indicative of the still lingering doubts Glorfindel harbored about his lover’s loyalty. For what need was there for it if the captain’s trust in him had been fully restored?

The niggling thought was brushed aside with the onset of a more thorough taking. The gentle, shallow thrusts progressively quickened and deepened until they were both breathing harshly in ecstasy. He whispered Glorfindel’s name pleadingly, needful of an end to the sweet torment. He was shushed with a rough, heated kiss. But the captain complied nonetheless, driving hard and mercilessly into him, trapping his aching length between them enough to stimulate it without laying a hand on it.

Elladan spent himself with a strangled cry, quivering with every spurt of his seed between them. Glorfindel was not long in following him into the mindless rapture of release, a shuddery exhalation marking the moment of his climax. 

Drawing much needed breath, he allowed himself a few seconds respite atop Elladan before removing himself to the twin’s side. Elladan turned to face him, grey eyes sparkling with affection.

“‘Tis always good to come home,” he murmured.

Glorfindel smiled faintly. “Even amidst turmoil?” he remarked.

Elladan chuckled wryly. “Aye, there seems to be a touch of bedlam in the air,” he agreed. “Who would have thought hobbits would have such a stirring effect on Imladris?” His smile faded and gave way to a slight frown. “And Estel told us of your part in their survival. You put yourself at risk once more, _melethen_.”—my love.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I do not fear the Nazgúl,” he said. “‘Twas fortuitous that it was I who came upon them rather than any of the others who set out in search of their whereabouts. Who knows if they would have withstood the Nine otherwise?” He looked long and searchingly at Elladan in turn. “And you dared to venture into Rhûn. Do not try to persuade me that it was not perilous to spy out that hostile land.”

Elladan shook his head. “I will not attempt it,” he said. “Yet the danger to us was far less than what might have befallen you. The Easterlings have little if any dealings with Elves and even less do they expect any to walk their streets. They never realized we were in their midst. But the Nine are another matter. You faced them alone and on foot. I know Estel is a valiant war-brother but he is still a man and would have been hard-pressed to hold his ground against them and the terror they wield.”

Glorfindel sighed. “‘Tis moot to debate it. We prevailed and young Frodo is safe for the moment.” He paused. “Will you and Elrohir attend tomorrow’s Council?”

“Aye, though we will do so unseen.” Elladan pursed his lips. “Think you the fate of the Ring will be decided then?”

“It has to be,” Glorfindel tightly said. “That _thing_ cannot remain in Imladris too long. If Sauron learns of its presence here, you can be certain he will come to take it soonest by whatever means necessary. I would not have this realm come to the same end as Gondolin.”

Elladan moved closer and curled a soothing arm around the captain. “It shall not come to that,” he murmured. “I wager Father has already decided upon a course of action but will await everyone’s opinions first if only out of courtesy.”

Glorfindel considered this for a spell, then nodded in agreement. He looked at Elladan, eyes glittering in the dim light. “I am glad you are home,” he whispered. “And hale and whole as well.” He softly laughed when the twin, on the verge of replying, suddenly lifted his hand to his lips to conceal a small yawn. “Though sorely in need of sleep it would seem,” he added with mirth.

“Forgive me but I have had precious little of it this past week,” Elladan admitted, the shroud of slumber already heavy upon him.

The captain regarded him with some sympathy. “Sleep then,” he said. “‘Twill be most unseemly if you are observed slumbering the morning away while at council.”

With a snort and a small grin, Elladan turned over, molding himself into the curve of Glorfindel’s body, his backside pressing against his lover’s groin. His grin grew wider when he heard the captain’s smothered intake of breath followed by a muffled oath. 

An instant later, a powerful arm enclosed him from behind, pulling him flush against a solid chest and an even more solid shaft. It was his turn to gasp and utter an imprecation when said shaft sought entrance into his body, found it and slid into him without preamble. He instinctively flinched from the sudden breaching but Glorfindel held him fast. He felt the captain’s lips, warm and misleadingly soft against the skin behind his ear.

“You provoke me at your own peril, _pen neth_ ,” Glorfindel murmured.

Elladan groaned as he was thereby filled to bursting. And then he was caught between torment and bliss as he was fiercely taken anew, Glorfindel sinking deep into him with every forward plunge of his hips. Telltale bruises from the side of his throat to his shoulder marked the marauding trail of the captain’s lips. Elladan reached behind him to grasp a sleekly muscled thigh. 

But if he had meant to still or slow the relentless incursions into his flesh, it was for naught for Glorfindel only held him closer and deepened his thrusts until he had Elladan shuddering from the onslaught. He finished his Peredhel lover off with several ardent strokes to his turgid length.

Completion came in a riot of explosive sensation and stifled sound. It was some time before the surging flood of pleasure finally ebbed, leaving them adrift in the delicious haze of satiation. Elladan finally drew a thoroughly weary if contented breath.

“Elbereth!” he moaned. “Now I am truly exhausted.”

Glorfindel chuckled against the side of his neck. “Goad me no more and you will get some rest this eve,” he counselled.

Elladan weakly snickered and nodded his acquiescence. But before he drifted into repose, he noted that Glorfindel had not seen fit to withdraw from him. And from the way the captain held him, it was clear he intended to pass the night berthed within the silken haven of his younger lover’s body.

A blatant gesture of possessiveness if ever there was one.

* * * *

“I still cannot believe the Wood-elves let that wretched creature escape! I had not thought them capable of such deplorable negligence.”

Elladan glanced over his shoulder to where Elrohir stood in quiet conversation with Legolas. He looked back at a patently upset Aragorn.

“‘Tis unwise to speak so unflatteringly of Thranduil’s folk,” he advised his foster brother. “Unless it is your greatest wish to bring Elrohir’s ire upon you.”

Aragorn stared at him in surprise. Puzzled he turned his head to observe the younger twin. Puzzlement gave way to comprehension and he looked back at Elladan with a mixture of amusement and astonishment.

“Who would have thought…” he began to say. He huffed a scapegrace snigger and shook his head. “You are right. I had best keep silent. ‘Twould be far more preferable to face a horde of Orcs than endure Elrohir’s tongue-lashing!”

Their moment of hilarity was interrupted when Elrond approached them, Glorfindel and Erestor in tow.

The meeting that would in later days be known as the Council of Elrond had concluded with, as Glorfindel had hoped, a concrete decision as to the fate of the One Ring and the Ring-bearer as well. 

Frodo’s momentous choice to bear the Ring to Mordor and cast it into the fires where it had been forged in an earlier Age would now set many deeds and events in motion. Of paramount importance was the need to assess the lay of the land so to speak and determine which road would be safest for Frodo to take. 

If there was any safe path still left open in these evil times, Elladan grimly thought.

Elrond sighed and laid his hands on his sons’ shoulders, his grip on Aragorn’s no less loving than his hold on Elladan’s. “Much as I begrudge sending you off once more into peril, our need leaves us with no choice. Glorfindel will go to Mirkwood and inform Thranduil of what has transpired and Erestor will accompany Galdor back to the Havens to speak with Círdan and seek his counsel if any. Others will follow the Greenway as far as they can. Gandalf is not inclined to take so obvious a road, but better to know what options will lie open to you on this Quest than be forced to abide one path even when it has become untenable.” 

He looked at Aragorn with no small amount of pride in his foster son. “What road will you take, Estel?”

“East over Caradhras,” the man promptly answered. “If I know Gandalf at all, ‘tis the way he will favor and I have utmost trust in him.” He glanced at Elladan. “And mayhap my brothers can bring tidings of the Council to Lórien. I warrant the Lord and Lady will have much to say and all to good purpose.”

Not so much as a mote of dismay crossed Elladan’s features. But for the swift glance he cast Glorfindel’s way, there was no evidence that he was reluctant in the least to undertake a journey to the Golden Wood. But the captain did not betray any displeasure either in demeanor or expression. Elladan dutifully acceded to Aragorn’s proposition.

“We can ride together until we reach the Silverlode,” he suggested.

“A sound idea,” Aragorn replied.

“Then let us inform Elrohir of our charge, Estel,” Elladan said. “The sooner we depart, the sooner we shall all return, Eru willing.”

*********************  
Glossary:  
Narquelië – Quenya for October

_To be continued…_


	13. XII.

_Ringarë_ T.A. 3018  
The chill of a bleak winter hung like a pall over the empty land. Were it not for the two horsemen who now traversed the barren plains, one might mistake this patch of Eriador to be completely forsaken by living creatures.

Elladan heaved a sigh of relief when they at last came upon the trail that led into the secret cleft wherein Imladris nestled. It was some two months since he and Elrohir had ridden out of the haven. It was likely they were the last to return of those who had set out to scour the lands in preparation for Frodo Baggins' perilous quest.

Aragorn’s original plan to ride east over the mountains with his Elf-brothers had been aborted when, just as he and the brethren were ready to depart, his Dúnedain kin had arrived. Halbarad and his band of Rangers had been in the immediate vicinity and the Elves sent out right after the council to seek them had swiftly come upon them.

Halbarad had suggested that they might be of better service were they to assist the Elves who would ride west and south. After all, the Rangers knew those lands far more than Elrond’s scouts, whereas the way east was already familiar to many of them.

Acceding to his cousin’s counsel, Aragorn decided to accompany his kinsfolk that he might also confer with them at length over the Quest to come. And so they had ridden westward while the twins had gone east with a number of Elven companions. Parting from the brethren once they descended the Dimrill stairs, the scouts had travelled to Radagast’s old home at Rhosgobel while the twins made their way down the river Celebrant, the Silverlode, and gone on to the Golden Wood.

Elladan felt a pang of regret as he recalled those few weeks of their stay in their grandparents’ realm. It had not been the most comfortable of sojourns.

While only a handful of Rivendell’s folk knew the reason behind his quarter century rift with Glorfindel, the same could not be said of the Galadhrim. He had been far from discreet about his liaison with Rúmil and it had even been used by some of the soldier Geledhil as a means of goading Glorfindel’s proud warriors. It was that careless disregard for pride and sensibilities that had led to the exposure of Elladan’s indiscretion and thereafter his grievous break with Glorfindel.

But there had been no such leaks since. No gossip about the affair had reached Rivendell and that was due to Celeborn and Galadriel’s iron rule over their people even if said rule was oft gloved in velvet. 

Ere the brethren had crossed the mountains after their last leave-taking, the Lord and Lady had already been apprised of their older grandson’s folly by way of Galadriel’s handmaiden who had overheard the less than congenial exchange between the Lórien guards and the Imladrin warriors. True to her training, she had first gathered more information upon their return to Caras Galadon before informing her master and mistress of the matter.

Celeborn and Galadriel had moved to contain what damage they could. Not so much to keep Glorfindel from discovering the affair; his men would surely bring the news to him soonest. But they knew that loyalty to their captain would keep these same warriors from spreading it beyond the walls of Glorfindel’s office. 

If they ensured Lórien’s silence on this, it was to keep things from worsening. For if word was to reach Imladris and become general knowledge, it would deal a deadly blow to the golden-haired Noldo’s pride. If that happened, the chances of any reconciliation between him and their grandson would all but disappear. Hence, the stern warning to all the Galadhrim to guard their tongues lest they wished to taste their Lord and Lady’s full wrath. 

With no recourse to openly vent his bewilderment and hurt pride, was it any wonder that Rúmil had made that backhanded swipe at Glorfindel last the captain visited the Golden Wood? 

* * * *

Their welcome to Lórien was blessedly shorn of tension. Only Haldir had been present at the western border and he had not in any way displayed rancor toward Elladan. The older twin would always be grateful for the marchwarden’s words to him when he’d quietly apologized for whatever hurt he may have caused his younger brother. 

Haldir said, “Rúmil took that risk when he dared approach you knowing where your heart truly belongs. Do not take all the blame upon yourself, my lord. He had an equal share in it.” The argent-haired Elf had paused then sighed. “Mayhap more than an equal share. ‘Twas neither noble nor wise of him to take advantage of your fraught state at the time.”

That startled Elladan that his anger and confusion should have been so apparent that word of it had reached the border guards. It also mitigated some of his guilt regarding his treatment of Rúmil. In hindsight, it was now apparent that the young guard’s actions had not been all that sterling either when he had insinuated himself into the picture while Elladan was at his weakest. 

The older twin did not know if love had aught to do with Rúmil’s behavior. He only knew that an Elf should not covet another Elf’s lover. 

Haldir’s insightful opinion of his brother’s conduct and the realizations that followed in its wake served him in good stead. By the time he and Elrohir found themselves secure in Celeborn and Galadriel’s warm and welcoming clasps, he no longer harbored any overwhelming guilt that might have led him to take some inadvisable course of action. Not a renewed liaison to make amends of course—never that. But he might have put himself in another inopportune position that would have compounded his discomfort in the presence of the other Elf. 

As it was, when he saw Rúmil standing amongst his grandparents’ guards, he felt only the regret of any truehearted being at having been the cause of another’s hurt. That was all, no more, no less.

This was not to say that Elladan thought himself absolved of blame for his part in that sordid affair. But his recognition of Rúmil’s share in it did ease his guilt and made him start to ponder just what it was that had rendered him so vulnerable to his blandishments in the first place. He had avoided thinking about it because of the pain the memories recalled to him. Mayhap it was time he took a closer look at himself.

But before that, there was a matter that had to be cleared up first. Three mornings after the twins’ arrival, Elladan headed for the barracks. He did not banter with the warriors who greeted him as had been his wont on previous visits but asked at once to speak with Rúmil. He ignored the barely concealed curious regard of the other Elves as he awaited the arrival of his erstwhile paramour. 

The curiosity peaked when Rúmil appeared and his face brightened discernibly as soon as he laid eyes on the Elf-lord. Elladan offered a tight, polite smile that indicated nothing of his intentions or feelings. Rúmil’s expression changed from elated to bemused but before he could say a word, Elladan turned and led the way to a more private spot beyond the barracks, a small glade partly shielded by a copse. It put them out of earshot of the others but kept them within their sight at all times. 

Almost as soon as they entered the glade, Rúmil closed the distance between them, eyes shining in anticipation. But Elladan stepped back swiftly, his hand going up to ward off the other’s advance. 

“I did not come to tryst with you,” he said carefully, “but to tell you that I rue what we did. What I did.”

The guard gazed at him uneasily. “When you shunned me afterwards, my lord,” he ventured with the faintest tinge of accusation in his voice, “I hoped it was only because you were distraught at having discovered that you were not as happy with your esteemed captain as you deemed yourself. I did not like it when your brother sent me away but I thought you needed time to come to terms with...a change of heart.”

“I was distraught,” Elladan admitted. “But a change of heart was not the reason for it. ‘Twas shame that drove me to behave thusly. Shame that I had betrayed one who had done me no wrong and in so hurtful a fashion.” 

Rúmil’s eyes widened with wavering disbelief. “So ‘tis true! You have returned to him,” he gasped. “I could scarce give credence to that news when I heard it.”

“I never truly left him,” Elladan softly corrected. “I did but stray for a while and paid dearly for it after.”

“Then what was I to you, my lord?” the Galadhel demanded, his voice sharp with frustration and ire. “A mere bed-treat to use when you were lonely and cast away once you were done?”

“You were no innocent when you sought to court me, Rúmil,” Elladan gently chided. “We both are to blame for this sorry state of affairs. You dared to seek my favors, knowing where my heart lay. And I allowed my rage to rule me and broke faith with one who had never played me false.”

“Mayhap the Balrog slayer has indeed never betrayed you,” Rúmil retorted. “But neither has he ever uttered any promises whose breaking would constitute faithlessness. You said so yourself, my lord. You told me that you do not even know for certain if he loves you!”

Elladan flushed with shame at having put Glorfindel in so unfavorable a light. And before the one with whom he had cuckolded his lover at that. He drew a shuddery breath, recalling once more the misery that had followed in the wake of Glorfindel’s discovery of his illicit liaison.

“‘Twas wrong of me to speak of such matters with you,” he bleakly said. “And even more reprehensible when ‘twas not the truth but only said in ill-founded anger. I pray you did not spread such slander of so noble an Elf.” 

It was Rúmil’s turn to redden. “I may only be a simple border guard but I would not stoop to so dishonorable a deed,” he sullenly replied.

“Yet you did not desist from reminding him of my perfidy,” Elladan could not help pointing out. 

The guard winced then looked away. He was, after all, not evil or malicious. But a scorned lover he was, and as many scorned lovers are wont to do, had not been able to resist taking some vengeance on the one who had hurt him. His error, however, had been to vent his umbrage on the wrong person. 

Elladan grimly said, “If it was your intention to strike at me through him, I will admit you succeeded all too well. But it was not kind of you to cause him pain. For what harm had he ever done you save to be the one who holds my heart?” 

This last statement loosed the moorings of the young warden’s already frayed forbearance. “How can you love one who cannot give wholly of himself to you?” he cried bitterly. “Why do you cleave to him when he never truly sates your spirit but only leaves you yearning for more? I would have given you everything you asked of me, as he has never done. You told me this, my lord, and you said I pleased you. Yet still you choose him. Why?”

Elladan did not reply at once but considered Rúmil’s not unexpected tirade pensively. At length, he looked at the guard, his eyes entreating him to understand. “Because he is Glorfindel,” he quietly said. 

Rúmil caught his breath in shock. And then his shoulders slumped in defeat. Heaving a resigned sigh, he shook his head and said: “You are besotted with him beyond reason. I cannot hope to compete with one so sublimely regarded as you do him. No one can.”

Elladan did not know what to say to that. And so he offered a simple and contrite, “I am sorry, Rúmil.”

The guard stared at him then nodded. “I am sorry, too, my lord,” he answered regretfully. “Sorry that you have chosen to cast your lot with so parsimonious a lover. One such as you deserves to be cherished without stint. Not left to wane or wither for want of proper tending.”

With a brisk bow to Elladan, he left the glade.

* * * *

Glorfindel was in the midst of a conference with his lieutenants when they arrived in Rivendell. After sending a squire to summon Elrond, he escorted them to their father’s study, informing them that he had arrived from Mirkwood some weeks beforehand and that Thranduil, while far from pleased about having been kept in the dark regarding the true identity of his strange captive, had been cooperative nonetheless.

No doubt the Elvenking was far more concerned about the immediate threat from Dol Guldur than events that would most likely take place far from his borders and people. After all, he had known the brunt of that evil stronghold’s power before while Mordor was no more than a malevolent memory to him from a time long past. He had also inquired as to why his youngest son had not come with the Imladrin contingent to tell him personally about the Council. 

Elrohir looked sharply at the captain; he could not help being in agreement with Thranduil. Why had Legolas remained in Rivendell? To this Glorfindel would make no answer but said it would be best that they asked their father for the prince’s reasons.

Before he left to return to his men, he glanced at Elladan, a question in his eyes. Elladan’s reply was a slight smile. 

Elrohir shook his head at their wordless conversation. He knew without asking that as soon as they finished reporting to Elrond, his brother would head for Glorfindel’s quarters and remain there for the rest of the day. But he said nothing and soon Elrond arrived to welcome them and listen to their news. 

It was many hours before they emerged from their talk with their sire. The sun was still riding high when they came to the vale. Now it was late afternoon. As they stepped out into the hallway, they espied a young Elf making his way down the wide corridor. The Elf came to a halt when he saw them, his expression a blend of pleasure and nervousness. 

“Legolas!” Elrohir said, a smile lighting his comely face. “How fare you, my prince?”

“Well enough,” the Wood-elf softly answered, obviously abashed by Elladan’s watchful presence. “And you? I trust your journey was fruitful?” he shyly added.

“Enough for our purposes,” Elladan said. He glanced at his brother, grey eyes dancing with mirth. “I will see you later, _tôr neth_ ”—younger brother—he said with a smirk. “Glorfindel awaits me.” 

With a friendly nod at Legolas, he strode off towards the captain’s quarters. A backward glance showed his brother and the Mirkwood prince walking away; toward Elrohir’s chamber. He could not forebear a grin. Elrohir was certainly not wasting any time. 

And neither would Glorfindel, he thought, once the captain was done with his duties for the day. Out of nowhere, unease assailed him. 

There had always been an element of desperate longing whenever they came together after a parting. This had amplified in the aftermath of his misguided affair and was now oft shadowed by Glorfindel’s lingering distrust regarding his capacity for fidelity. It showed in the manner of their initial couplings upon reunion; in the intensely possessive nature of Glorfindel’s taking of him. Elladan quavered with uncharacteristic disquiet.

What more now when he was newly returned from Lórien, the very site of his oath breaking?

Suddenly stricken with deep anxiety, he could not bring himself to go on but retreated instead to his own bedchamber. To its apparent safety. 

He could not quite pinpoint the cause of his qualms. Certainly not Glorfindel himself for his lover would never do him harm. Would never raise hand or sword to him. Even at the height of his anger twenty-five years ago, he had only resorted to words. Cutting words that had left deep wounds.

Elladan felt his misgivings blossom into active fear. It hit him then. He had not truly recovered from those words. He still bore the scars of the captain’s verbal lashing. Each time he returned from the Wild now it was always with a mixture of elation and dread that he might have failed Glorfindel anew in some way. 

Elrohir had castigated him frequently enough for indulging this fear but he could not help it. Not when he recalled the wintry coldness of Glorfindel’s wrath, so far more potent than the volcanic fury of others.

He entered his room and sought the soothing embrace of a hot bath. A good half hour later, refreshed and some degrees calmer, he lay down on his bed and tried to lose himself in the healing nothingness of slumber. He would go to Glorfindel later, when he was no longer wracked with tension.

He was in that twilight state between waking and dreaming when he felt it. 

His bond with Elrohir was stronger than any that had existed between brothers since the dawning of time. So strong that they could sense the other even when they did not seek to, particularly when their guard was down such as in light sleep or reverie. And especially when one or the other was steeped in some powerful emotion—grief, excitement, anger, joy.

He caught his breath as he felt the welling of profound bliss in the periphery of his consciousness; a bliss born not only of the heart but also of the spirit and body as well. He had never known his twin to be so happy, so...so contented. He sat up and stared in confusion at the far wall that separated his chamber from Elrohir’s. And then he sensed it. 

A joy that was not his brother’s. An outpouring of love and lust that was so forceful, so heartfelt that it joined with Elrohir’s own felicity and came through their brotherly link. But of course... Legolas! 

He lay down on his side, his heart starting to pound madly as he realized something. In all his time with Glorfindel, he had never known such openness of heart and mind before. Had never felt that utter surrender of self from the captain. Yet Legolas had done it for Elrohir. Allowed his feelings free rein and yielded all that he was and had and in so short a time. 

_Elbereth! They barely know each other_ , Elladan thought. But they had recognized their preordained bond at first sight. Had recognized it and did not deny it but claimed and embraced it to its fullest. It should not surprise him, he told himself. At least, not where Elrohir was concerned. 

It was the way of the Peredhil. 

It explained Elwing’s determination to stay at Eärendil’s side when he braved the Valar’s awful retribution and challenged the ancient ban. Why Elros Elrond’s brother had chosen mortality that he might be one with his mortal queen. Why Arwen would follow in his footsteps rather than be parted from her Ranger love in this life and the next. Why Elrond had wooed his silver-crowned lady even when he had thought himself unworthy of so lauded an Elf-maid. Why Elrohir had moved so swiftly to claim what he knew was his the moment he laid eyes on the woodland prince. And why Elladan had never abandoned his pursuit of his elusive captain. 

And there lay the rub. Glorfindel was _still_ his elusive captain. He alone of those who had captured the hearts of the Peredhil continued to resist the uncanny connection that linked him to his lover; had linked them from their first meeting onward.

He struggled to block the channel through which his bond with Elrohir flowed. He needed to think and he could not when distracted by the joy of his brother’s joining with his newfound love. He was pleased for Elrohir—he could never begrudge his twin happiness. But he was also saddened that he might never know it himself. 

For the first time in his life, Elladan was uncertain of his ultimate fate. 

He had always believed he would be as his father and Half-elven grandparents. He would do his duty to land and people. Would fight and possibly die for those he was sworn to protect. 

It seemed a stark life at best for the eldest born of the Lord of Rivendell and might have cowed a less staunch heart. But Elladan had also carried with him the conviction that he would experience his parents’ abiding love for each other. That he would find his own mate in life; the one to whom he would belong and in turn was destined for him alone. That love would succor him through thick or thin. Would stand by him come what may. 

What he had never foreseen and even less expected was that this love would arrive in the person of a legend returned to life. And he had never considered that, while he would readily accept the Elf who embodied love for him, that Elf would not do the same. Or could not. 

A tear trickled down his cheek as he faced the possibility that perhaps he had been singled out. That while he had been gifted with the same predestined love as the rest of his kin, it did not mean that he would own it as they owned theirs. With that thought came a dread of the future. 

Could he endure that? To spend the unending years trapped in the limbo that was the lot of an Elf who was neither free nor taken? 

He remembered Rúmil’s parting words. The young guard would have given him what Glorfindel had not and likely never would. He had sensed this from the moment Rúmil had flirted with him. Indeed, he had sensed this with many others but never truly taken notice. Only with Rúmil had he opened himself that tiniest bit and eventually succumbed. 

But it did not mean he cared for the guard more than he had the others or even that in that brief time he had wavered in his love for Glorfindel. His yielding to temptation had nothing to do with Rúmil’s attractions and everything to do with himself. The guard had simply been in the right place and at the right time. 

When Elladan’s heart had finally wearied, worn down by centuries of fruitless waiting. When his longing for wholehearted, unequivocal appreciation for him had overtaken reason.

The tear turned into a torrent as Elladan accepted the truth at last. 

He had known this fatigue long ago but fought against it, refusing to surrender to its pull, relying on his steadfast belief that he would find his reward in the end. But today, in this moment, after having known even ephemerally the full measure of a true melding of hearts, something broke inside of him. He finally gave in to the hopelessness of his cause. And gave up. 

He would never tell Elrohir the full tale of his anguished soul’s unbidden journey. His brother would wonder and guess and badger him until he revealed to him something of it. But he would not burden him with the whole truth; that it was his joy that had led Elladan down the path to loss and sorrow and choice. Elrohir would not let him go without a fight; would rail at him and plead with him on bended knee and do all in his power to push him back onto the straight road to Elvenhome. 

Elladan smiled through his tears, savoring the knowledge of his brother’s unfailing love for him. He decided that he would not declare himself without Elrohir’s knowledge. It would pain his twin to bear witness to something that would eternally part them, but it would hurt him even more were Elladan to act in secret. 

Peace came to him on the heels of his decision. He had not felt such serenity for so long, he realized. He might never know happiness as his brother and sister knew it, but he would have peace at least. It would be enough to sustain him as he continued on his way through life. In the meantime, he would make good use of his time. 

Elrohir had oft accused him of being less than the Peredhel he’d been bred to be. It had stung but Elladan now accepted that perhaps his brother had spoken the truth. Perhaps in his single-minded pursuit of his Noldorin lover, he had been derelict in living up to all that he could and should be. He would make amends now. He would be what he had been born to be. He was Elladan son of Elrond and he would do his loved ones proud whatever the cost. 

He started when a shadow fell across him. He shifted and looked up into Glorfindel’s concerned eyes. He sat up, hastily passing his hand across his eyes to wipe away the last of his tears.

“Elladan, what ails you?” Glorfindel softly asked, seating himself on the edge of the bed. He snuck a hand under Elladan’s chin to lift it and frowned when he took in the other’s red-rimmed eyes. “Have you been weeping?” 

Elladan shook his head. “I was only more weary than I thought,” he said, sadly acknowledging to himself the double meaning of his reply. “I must have fallen asleep. Did I keep you waiting overlong?”

Glorfindel regarded him curiously, sensing that something had troubled Elladan beyond mere physical lassitude. “‘Tis long past the evening meal,” he replied. “Did you not hear the bell?”

Surprised, Elladan looked out the window at the darkness beyond. “Oh, I did not realize how late it is,” he murmured. “I am sorry, Glorfindel.”

“Do not apologize for your exhaustion,” the captain mildly reproved him. “I became concerned when you failed to appear in the dining hall. Your reason for staying away could hardly have been the same as your brother’s.”

Elladan faintly chuckled. “So you have uncovered that affair, have you?” he smiled.

Glorfindel smiled back. “Only a want-wit could misconstrue what I witnessed earlier. Elrohir must have gone to replenish his stock of wine for I saw him returning to his room with a bottle in hand and even before he came to his door, Legolas opened it clad in little more than a robe that I definitely know belongs to your brother. Last I saw of them before Elrohir kicked his door shut, they were in each other’s arms, kissing as if they’d been parted for years rather than mere minutes!”

That elicited another laugh from Elladan. Yes, he was truly happy for his twin. He would tell him so tomorrow. But for now…

He lay back, suddenly pulling a surprised Glorfindel atop him. The captain looked at him questioningly.

“I thought you were tired,” he commented, though he did not look at all displeased at the implicit invitation.

“I am well rested now,” Elladan told him with a smirk, stroking the captain’s cheek. “I assure you I am more than ready for your attention!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Glorfindel leaned down and kissed him long but gently, as if gauging the veracity of his claim. He drew back and gazed at his younger lover. 

Something about Elladan’s smile struck him as peculiar, almost fey if the term could be applied to an Elf. He wondered about it but could not quite put his finger on the cause of it. Did the reason lie in this reunion? But the only thing that set this reunion apart from the others was whence Elladan had just returned. A slight frown creased his brow. 

“How was your stay in Lórien?” he inquired before he could stop himself.

Elladan did not flinch before his gaze but only smiled more sweetly. He curled his hand behind the captain’s head and pulled him down until their foreheads touched.

“He knows I am yours, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—he whispered. “To my dying day, I am yours.”

He forestalled any response from his lover with a deep, molten kiss that heated their blood and spurred the wild need to couple their bodies as swiftly and completely as possible.

It was not until much later that Glorfindel would recall the oddity of his last statement. For why would an immortal allude to a fate that, barring unforeseen circumstances, was not for the deathless to know? 

**************************************  
Glossary:  
Ringarë – Quenya for December  
Geledhil – Tree-elves (sing. Galadhel)

_To be continued…_


	14. XIII.

The 25th day of December dawned cold and grey; not the most encouraging of beginnings for the intrepid nine who comprised the Fellowship of the Ring. Each member of the seemingly ragtag company passed the last hours before departure in whatever way each deemed the time well spent.

Gandalf the Grey, de facto leader of the Company, busied himself in last minute discussions with Elrond and his counsellors. To him would fall much of the burden of seeing his Quest-companions through the problems that would surely plague their endeavor.

Frodo closeted himself with Bilbo for most of the morning, emerging eventually with his uncle’s trusty knife Sting hanging snugly from his belt and a mithril shirt secreted under his nondescript clothes. The latter he did not mention to any, not even his faithful servant Sam or his cousins Merry and Pippin with whom he passed the remainder of the afternoon.

Gimli kept company with his father Glóin and the other Dwarves who had made the journey to Rivendell with them, fortifying himself against the prospect of travelling with two proud men, four trouble-prone hobbits, one wily wizard and, most annoying of all, a Mirkwood Elf!

Boromir of Gondor conferred briefly with the one other man in the Fellowship, but otherwise kept to himself. Soon after parting from his fellow warrior, Aragorn disappeared for a few hours and none could say wither he had taken himself. But then neither could any find the Evenstar who vanished almost at the same time as the Elfstone. 

Elrohir entered the conservatory wherein were housed exotic blooms, plants and trees from the far lands of Rhûn and Harad. Celebrían had tended them herself when she still lived in Imladris. Arwen had taken over their care since. The Elf-knight searched amongst the varicolored flora until he found what he sought. 

He quietly approached the woodland prince where the latter sat upon a settee fitted into a trellised alcove. Legolas raised his head, sensing the Elf-lord’s presence. But he did not smile in welcome nor did his eyes brighten with delight. Elrohir sighed and sank down on the seat beside his woodland lover. 

“You are still irate with me,” he softly said.

Legolas looked long at him then shook his golden head and laid it on Elrohir’s shoulder. The twin relaxed in some relief and lifted a hand to stroke the prince’s silky mane.

“I cannot stay angry with you for long,” Legolas murmured. “Indeed, I regret my show of temper. All it did was waste time that would have been better spent together. Forgive me, Elrohir.”

“Nay, there is nothing to forgive, _melethen_ ”—my love—the Elf-knight demurred soothingly. “You were upset and rightly so. I cannot fault you for reacting as you did.” He pressed his lips to Legolas’ white brow. “I was so distraught that I neglected to consider your feelings about this matter.”

Legolas lifted his head and gazed at him with swimming eyes. The sight of his prince’s distress wounded Elrohir to the core. 

He pulled him into a tight embrace, scattering kisses on his cheeks and fluttering eyelids. Legolas shivered with need at each sweet caress. When Elrohir drew back, he opened his eyes and regarded him in confusion and entreaty.

“Then why, Elrohir? Why must you delay your choice?” he anxiously asked. “I would that you assured me now, before I leave, that you will tread your father’s path. You said you were mine!” This last was said with such fierce yearning that it was all Elrohir could do to stay himself from making an irrevocable pronouncement.

“I am yours, never doubt that, my heart,” he earnestly said. “But please, try to understand. It seems that I am all that now holds Elladan to that path. I had thought that he would choose as I because of—” He broke off and took a fortifying breath. “No matter, that hope is no more.” 

He cupped Legolas’ face in his hands and gazed at him imploringly. “Arwen is already lost to us. Now it appears we will lose Elladan as well. But for so long as he believes that I might follow him instead, he may not renounce his immortality. Not yet.”

Legolas swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the immutability of the Peredhil’s choice. He understood Elrohir’s fear; knew his lover would deeply grieve the loss of his twin should they take different roads. And that was what frightened him beyond bearing; that Elrohir’s loyalty to his brother might prove stronger than his devotion to his lover. That in the end, Legolas would be the one left behind to grieve. 

“And if he does choose the other road?” he whispered. “Will you...will you forsake me for it as well?”

Elrohir was silent for the longest while as he contemplated his options. He looked upon Legolas’ immaculately beautiful countenance, proud even in sorrow. He saw his lips tremble and the attempt to still them; felt the faint tremor in the slender body he held in his arms. 

The thought of Legolas walking into certain danger with this uncertainty hounding his every step and chiseling away at his resolution refused to fade away. Elrohir was a warrior to his very bones but even he could not bear to see his beloved reduced to such straits. 

Though his own eyes stung with unshed tears and his throat ached with anticipated anguish, he said, “Nay, I will not forsake you. If he and I must part, then so be it. I will not leave you now that I have found you.”

His reward was the crush of soft lips against his, the wending of supple fingers in his dark hair and the scorch of a lean, withy body flush against his. It was enough to drive all other considerations from Elrohir’s mind and supplant them with one all encompassing desire—to be joined with his forest prince ere they were parted for Elbereth only knew how long. 

Oblivious of where they were, uncaring that they might be seen, they soon lay upon the stone floor, their unceremoniously shed garments shielding them from the cold, hard ground. Little time was spent in the initial stages of love-play; that would come later when they had expended some of their lust in this first fiery coupling.

With scarcely more than a spate of scalding kisses to pave the way, they were soon locked together in ecstasy’s thrall, Elrohir driving deep into his Greenleaf, Legolas’ long legs locked around the Elf-knight’s waist, each urging the other to give or yield to the utmost with every melding of their mouths, every urgent clasp of their hands upon arm and flank and thigh and every lunge of their hips. The muffled sounds of their joining resounded faintly through the conservatory but neither Elf cared if some unwitting witness stumbled upon them.

* * * *

Glorfindel had stepped out of the chamber as soon as he recognized the signs of full-fledged intimacy. But he could not lightly dismiss what he had seen and heard.

Elrond had requested that the Nine Walkers gather in the Hall of Fire just before dusk for a last round of formal farewells. It swiftly came to the captain’s notice that, of all the Company, only Legolas had not been apprised of Elrond’s summons. The prince was nowhere to be found and neither was the Lord Elrohir who might have some knowledge of his whereabouts. 

Guessing quite correctly that the Wood-elf might have sought solace in the verdant environs of the conservatory, Glorfindel had duly made his way there, arriving just in time to hear the prince’s heartbreaking plea. He had listened in stunned silence to their conversation, disbelief warring with alarm at the revelation of Elladan’s unexpected change of course.

He would have departed then. But something in Legolas’ almost desperate demeanor stayed him. And so he listened for a space, mesmerized by their complete honesty and total openness with each other despite the newness of their relationship. Even when Elrohir at last gave the woodland prince the assurance he craved, he found he could not move away. 

And so he watched the beginnings of their loving and was held spellbound; the very air seemed to crackle with the heat and energy of their intimacy. In that instant, he recognized in their easy and sensually charged rapport the same predestined bond that he had felt at first sight with Elladan.

A bond they embraced without any hesitation whatsoever. 

He backed away then and hastened out of the conservatory, haunted by some ghost of a feeling he could not quite identify. Shoving it aside for the moment, he went in search of Elladan, troubled by his discovery. 

He found the older twin soon enough, alone in one of the healing chambers, preparing a small pack of medicaments for Aragorn to take with him. That was not surprising for the Ranger was as much a healer as a soldier. After all, he had not only trained in Imladris but been raised by Elrond himself as one of his own. 

He waited until Elladan had completed his task before making his presence known.

“I am done now, Glorfindel,” the older twin said as he closed the pack. “Do not tell me Father sent you to fetch me.”

The captain could not help a slight start, still capable of being surprised after all these years that Elladan could oft sense his presence before seeing or hearing him. Unless he was perturbed by some distracting problem, that is.

“Nay, that is not the reason I sought you,” he said as he strode to his lover. He wasted no time on niceties but bluntly stated, “It has come to my attention that you are considering the Gift of Men.”

Elladan caught his breath, slightly taken aback that Glorfindel should have learned of his decision before he had a chance to inform him of it. Yet he did not flinch under the captain’s flinty stare but only gravely met it.

“Indeed, I am,” he admitted. He sighed when the warrior’s eyes widened in patent incredulity. “I am sorry, Glorfindel, I had hoped to inform you of this myself.”

“When, Elladan?” Glorfindel snapped. “When the deed was done?”

Elladan shook his head. “I would not offend you in that manner,” he said. “I would have told you as soon as the Company departed. When there was time enough for us to properly talk.”

Glorfindel could not fault his logic. The past week had been hectic to put it mildly. None had been spared amongst the chief Elves of Elrond’s household in the preparations for the Quest—from the healers to the counsellors to the Elf-smiths and warriors. 

In truth, since the brethren’s return from Lórien, he and Elladan had been hard-pressed to keep their nights free even for the most cursory of couplings, much less hold any conversations of considerable depth and length. It was a wonder that Elrohir and Legolas had somehow managed to garner more time for each other. The two were incredibly resourceful. Or mayhap simply shameless in their passion if their tryst in the conservatory was any indication. 

“I suppose it was not feasible then,” he conceded. “But there is time enough now; the others have yet to assemble in the Hall of Fire.” He looked searchingly at Elladan. “So tell me, _pen neth_ ”—young one. “Why would you even consider such a fate?”

Elladan looked back at him, pewter eyes glistening oddly. “What is there in this life to hold me to it for an endless eternity?” he asked.

Glorfindel stared at him in shock. “Are your parents and brother not reason enough?” he demanded. 

The twin shrugged with a nonchalance that irked Glorfindel though, for the life of him, he did not know why. 

“They have their own lives to contend with. Even Elrohir,” Elladan pointed out.

“Have you given thought to how deeply this will pain Elrohir?” he said accusingly. “Already it has come between him and Legolas.” At Elladan’s inquiring look, he added: “They nearly quarreled because of this. You know your brother will deem it nigh impossible to desert you.” 

Elladan's eyes dimmed for a moment. But only for a moment. They soon regained their serene glimmer and he simply said: “I will make him understand that it will be wiser for him to do so.” 

Glorfindel scowled. “You would leave those who love you to mourn your loss?” he harshly questioned.

Elladan calmly replied, “Only for a time. They will forget the grief and move on with their lives. Father and Mother will comfort each other and Elrohir has Legolas.”

Glorfindel pursed his lips. He did not quite know what to make of Elladan’s equanimity. It was almost maddening to say the least. 

“You do not mention me,” he tightly said.

Elegant, raven eyebrows rose in inquiry. “Will you grieve for me, Glorfindel?” Elladan asked. 

The captain nearly gasped, his lover’s skepticism as searing as a knife in his gut. “That is without question, Elladan!” he exclaimed.

“Truly?” Elladan responded. “I had thought you would be relieved.”

This time Glorfindel did gasp. “Do you think me a monster that I would welcome your loss?” he growled.

Elladan shook his head. “Nay, but you cannot deny that it would release you from the obligation you have felt you owed me all these years.”

“ _Obligation?_ ” Glorfindel nearly choked on the word. “The pox take your tongue, you have never been an obligation!”

“Then what am I?” Elladan softly challenged. “You would have me believe that I am more than your lover, yet you still have to own me your love.” When Glorfindel stared at him in consternation, he smiled sadly. “It is as I thought,” he murmured. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and convince my stubborn brother not to wait on my choice before making his.” 

He departed from the chamber, leaving Glorfindel to mutely stare after him in horrified comprehension.

* * * *

They silently watched as the Nine walked out of the Last Homely House’s courtyard. Out into peril under cover of darkness. Of the nine, three looked back ere they vanished into the night.

Frodo managed a heartening smile for Bilbo who stood by Elrond’s side, his teeth chattering with the cold.

Aragorn paused to snatch one last glimpse of Arwen, using it to buttress his determination to see this journey to its end.

And Legolas halted a moment to turn and lock gazes with Elrohir. He lifted his hand in one last farewell. The gesture was returned. 

In that brief while a promise earlier made was silently reiterated. 

Glorfindel watched them impassively enough though his heart skipped when he espied the silver rings on their upraised hands. He glanced at Elladan and noted how the older twin averted his eyes from their tender exchange and the tangible evidence of their avowed love. But not before Glorfindel saw his envy of his brother’s good fortune. 

When the Company had disappeared, Elrohir turned to Elladan and curled an arm around him. He shepherded his brother into the house. But as they passed Glorfindel, the younger twin suddenly looked at him. 

The captain braced himself for a verbal sample of Elrohir’s quick temper or a glare of condemnation. But to his surprise, the Elf-knight did neither. Instead, his argent eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pity.

Glorfindel blinked. Of all the responses he might have expected from Elrohir, pity had never been one of them. 

Pity for what?

He watched the brethren enter the house. It was dim inside for Elrond had ordered that almost all the lamps and torches be extinguished. 

Light was not only most unfitting a setting for the start of the Ring-bearer’s quest, it was also dangerous. Henceforth, the dark would be the Fellowship’s best ally as they travelled south, hopefully unmarked for the longest time. 

The twins disappeared into the gloom within. Something about the imagery evoked an old memory. A memory Glorfindel had long suppressed for the grief and uncertainty it always caused him. 

Of a shadowed doorway wrapped in silence. And a tall somber figure beckoning to him. And the passage into dimly lit halls and chambers. A world of shades and whispers where peace was the reward of the blameless and imposed contemplation the lot of the fallen. 

Glorfindel drew in his breath sharply as he recalled with startling clarity a place he hoped never to visit again. 

For while the Halls of Awaiting were a healing haven for elven souls, it was still a realm apart. Where one could not escape the knowledge that one no longer walked amongst the living. Or felt the sun’s golden warmth upon one’s skin no more or the taste of heady wine on one’s tongue. The salt of tears on flushed cheeks and laughter ringing in one’s ears. And the heat of two bodies molded against each other in bliss.

He shook his head as if to clear it of his unbidden recollections. Nay, it was not a place he wished to know a second time! 

Anymore than he wished for Elladan to know the place where men’s spirits abided, he realized with shock. A profound sense of bereavement overcame him followed by a dread and an ache that settled in his heart and refused to depart. 

Without warning, he felt the fear that he had known when he heard the sentries’ horns sound over Gondolin, just seconds before the deluge began. He’d known in that moment that time had finally run out on the hidden city and on all chances of healing wounds that still lay raw and open. 

That same terrible prescience afflicted him now, taunting him as it had then. Once again, time was running out. If he did not act at once, he would know loss and grief and heartwrenching regret anon.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could not endure that again. 

Hastening into the house before his resolve failed, Glorfindel made his way to his bedchamber, almost sprinting when he neared it. Entering, he walked to his wardrobe. Hesitating for just the briefest moment, he opened the largest compartment and withdrew from its depths a thick book. 

Not the one Elladan had oft caught him perusing in Elrond’s library but a larger, heavier tome bound in fine leather overlaid with gold leaf. It was readily apparent that this volume had not been opened in years, much less read. 

Seating himself upon his bed, Glorfindel laid the book before him on the sapphire-hued counterpane. The delicately embroidered emblem of Gondolin’s House of the Golden Flower lay directly beneath it, forming a muted gold and silver backdrop. 

For several minutes he stared at the volume, quailing at the prospect of confronting what lay within its gilt-edged pages. There was no doubting his valor in facing demons without. But did he have the courage to confront the demons within? 

He took a deep bracing breath and slowly opened the book.

_To be continued…_


	15. XIV.

Elrond called for a meeting with his sons and counsellors the following day right after the midday meal. Now that the Company of the Ring had departed Imladris it was time to turn their attention to matters closer at hand. Such as the security of the lands about them. For the Quest would be partly in vain were Frodo to succeed in destroying the One Ring only to return to a ravaged North.

Erestor and his fellow advisors arrived one after the other. Elrond and his sons were not long in following. But Glorfindel was late. 

That surprised everyone. The captain was never tardy and would oft arrive earlier than the appointed time. Elrohir looked at Elladan but the older twin shrugged signifying that he had no inkling where Glorfindel might be or why he was late.

When nearly twenty minutes had passed, Elrond requested one of the advisors to summon Glorfindel. But just as the Elf rose from his seat, the door to the study opened and the captain walked in. No one could refrain from staring at him in shock and curiosity. Not even Elrond.

He was impeccably attired for council as was his habit, his golden hair perfectly plaited in his usual style. And his stride was brisk and purposeful as befitting the leader of Rivendell’s forces. But his face told a different tale.

The line of his mouth was worse than unsmiling; it was positively grim. And there were dark rings under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that bespoke not only a sleepless night but also a restive one. Furthermore, his eyes were reddened as if he had wept or they had been subjected to some irritant. As no one could imagine Glorfindel shedding tears for any reason, they all thought the latter the cause of the state of his eyes though that raised even more questions than satisfied them.

He took his seat beside Erestor across the conference table from Elrond who in turn was flanked by the brethren. Elladan stared at him with obvious anxiety but he avoided meeting the twin’s eyes. Elrond also regarded him with worry.

“Are you well, Glorfindel?” he gently inquired. “We did not see you at breakfast or lunch.”

“ _Im mae, hiren_ ,” the captain tersely replied. I am well, my lord.

Elrond raised an eyebrow at the slight roughness of Glorfindel’s normally dulcet voice. But as the Noldo had asserted his soundness of body albeit quite curtly, he decided not to push the issue but to start the meeting at last.

The afternoon passed swiftly enough as they spoke of their various concerns. Paramount was the threat to the eastern realms of Mirkwood, Lothlórien, Dale and Erebor. 

In his previous journey to the Woodland Realm, Glorfindel had garnered enough information to form a valid opinion of the perils these kingdoms faced. And Thranduil had made it clear that he believed Dol Guldur would not hold off much longer but would soon unleash its hordes of Orcs and other foul creatures on the Dark Lord’s foes.

“Then we must lend aid where it will be most needed,” Elrond said.

“Mirkwood will need it most,” Glorfindel stated. “Both Dale and Erebor have the numbers to prevail even under prolonged siege. And Lórien cannot be taken by any power less than Sauron himself. But Mirkwood’s folk are at risk for all their valor and skill. They are less numerous than they used to be and Thranduil does not bear what you and the Lady of the Wood wield to protect your realms.”

Elrond considered this swiftly. “Take the greater number of our forces to Mirkwood and soonest,” he decided. “I can hold the line against the enemy should they turn on Imladris.”

Glorfindel nodded in agreement. Elrohir caught his eye and he saw the gratitude in the younger twin’s gaze. Elrond saw it as well and, guessing at the reason for his son’s gratefulness, could not suppress a small smile.

“I think we have covered everything,” he said. “But before we adjourn this meeting, I believe it would do us all good to hear of something to rejoice about,” he added, looking pointedly at his younger son.

Elrohir turned a startling crimson shade under his father’s regard. So rare an occurrence was his reaction that it drew smothered laughter from the other Elves.

With a resigned sigh, the Elf-knight gave in and, with his typical bluntness, said, “Legolas and I plighted our troth yesterday ere we went to the Hall of Fire.” He paused and waited out the smattering of surprised gasps. “We promised to bind to each other as soon as we have fulfilled our obligations to our lands and people.” 

Elrohir glanced at Elladan before turning his full gaze on Elrond. “And I pledged myself to Elvenkind, Father. As my betrothal gift to Legolas.”

The gasps were louder this time around and also more joyous. Elrond broke into a brilliant smile at his younger son’s last pronouncement. But his relief was short-lived for he soon noted the mournful gaze Elrohir bestowed on his brother. Felicity swiftly giving way to consternation, he turned in his chair to face Elladan.

“Have you made your choice, _gwaniuar_?”—older twin—he demanded in sudden fear.

Reading his father’s thoughts, Elladan gravely replied, “I know what path I wish to take though I have not declared it as yet.”

Elrond’s fear deepened. “What stays you when your brother has already done so?” he persisted.

Elladan hesitated. “Because my choice cannot please you,” he finally murmured. “Forgive me, sire, but I see no reason to bind myself to eternity.” At Elrond’s stricken look, he bit his lip then whispered, “You know my love will always be with you come what may but this is the road I must take.” 

He held Elrond’s sorrowful gaze and a sad smile creased his lips. “Will you keep me from it, _Ada_?”—Papa.

Elrond closed his eyes and a shudder visibly coursed through his frame. Beside him, Elrohir lowered his anguished gaze, unwilling to burden his brother further with his pain. But Elladan resolutely kept his gaze on his father. 

All three seemed to have forgotten the presence of the others.

Silence engulfed the study. The counsellors looked uncertainly at each other. 

Delicacy indicated that they should leave the study and allow the family their privacy. But Elrond had not dismissed them and protocol dictated that they could not go until he did. Feeling like intruders, they averted their gazes, unable to bear witness to their lord’s grief. Only Glorfindel did not turn his eyes away but laid them on the older twin with an intensity that would have unmanned Elladan had he known of it and returned it.

At length, Elrond heaved a broken sigh and opened his eyes to gaze at his firstborn. Though his eyes gleamed with tears, his regard remained steady.

“I will not gainsay your choice if ‘tis truly what you desire,” he quietly said. “If that is what will gain you your happiness then I will abide by it.” He drew a shaky breath. “And by the love I bear you, I will stand as your witness before the Powers.”

Elladan’s eyes glistened at this evidence of his father’s great love for him. “Thank you, _Ada_ ,” he murmured. Reaching for Elrond’s hands, he clasped them tightly in his. “Then with the blessing of the Valar, I state my choice,” he said, his voice fraught with emotion. “From this day forth I will take my place amongst—”

“ _Nay!_ ”

They all started at the harsh roar. Before any of them could move or speak, Glorfindel had leapt to his feet, eyes blazing with anger and alarm. 

Elladan stared at him as he stalked around the table and approached him, sweeping past Elrohir and Elrond with nary a glance of apology at either.

He was brusquely pulled out of his chair and drawn into a crushing embrace before his mouth was caught in a scorching kiss that left him panting for much needed breath before long. So heady was the assault that he could only hang on to Glorfindel’s shoulders lest he drop to the floor, his knees suddenly as solid as melting butter.

His father and brother looked on in mingled confusion and fascination, too stunned to protest this blatant ravishment of one of their own. And the advisors openly gawked in utter gracelessness at the scene before them. One of them could not quite stifle an awed “Sweet Eru!”

Elrond heard. Snapping out of his shock, he finally recalled that his advisors were still there. He glanced at Erestor and, with a tilt of his head, indicated the door. The chief counsellor swiftly rose to his feet and, with a peremptory gesture, hurriedly herded the others out of the room.

It was many breathless moments before Glorfindel saw fit to end the kiss. 

Once released from the plundering of his mouth, Elladan could not speak but only gaped in astonishment and bewilderment at his unexpectedly ardent warrior love.

“You will _not_ travel that road, Elladan,” Glorfindel told him in a taut voice that shook with unveiled fear. “You will not condemn me to an eternity without you. Without your loving!”

The twin found his voice at last though it came out as little more than a squeak. “What-what are you saying?” he stuttered.

“That I love you, my brave one,” Glorfindel staunchly stated. 

Ignoring Elladan’s stunned stare and the audible gasps from Elrond and Elrohir, he let go of the twin’s waist to lift his hands and cup his comely face, stroking the elegant cheekbones with his thumbs. 

“Curse me for a scoundrel for all the hurt I caused you,” he declared. “Damn me for a coward for waiting so long to offer you my heart. But do not leave me, Elladan. Do not doom me to a life of despair and hopeless yearning.”

When Elladan could only mutely gaze at him, struck dumb by so unbidden and fervent a declaration, Glorfindel imperiously said: “Say it, _seron vell_.”—beloved. “Declare yourself of Elvenkind. And _mine_.”

Elladan drew in a ragged breath. He had been claimed in no uncertain terms. With his father and brother no less to see and hear, there was no doubting Glorfindel’s intentions.

Eyes swimming with tears, Elladan broke into a smile of such incandescence, it bested even the brightest of Glorfindel’s offerings. 

“From this day forth I will take my place amongst my father’s kindred,” he said in a hushed reverent voice. “With the blessing of the Valar, I pledge myself to eternity and-and to you, Glorfindel. I pledge myself to _you_.”

Something stirred within him even as he finished uttering his simple oath. He caught his breath at the surge of sensation that streaked through his tall form, even unto the very tips of his fingers and the heels of his feet. He felt as if he was on fire but there was no pain. Only an intense heat that coursed through him and around him. He vaguely wondered if Elrohir had also felt this abrupt burgeoning of his eternal flame when he made his own pledge.

Glorfindel peered at him, noting his flushed countenance and the strange brilliance in his pewter eyes. He heard Elrohir’s sharp intake of breath followed by a patent sigh of relief. That alone told him that the miracle had happened even before Elrond’s happy confirmation.

“It is done.”

The captain smiled then, sheer joy and relief sweetening the line of his lips. Again he pressed his mouth to Elladan’s, prying the sinuous lips apart to pillage the sweetness within. Elladan’s arms snaked around his long frame and soon they were lost in another searing caress.

“Shall we have the smiths forge another pair of silver bands then?”

They broke apart to look at a grinning Elrohir. The younger twin had his arm around a beaming Elrond’s shoulders and both looked back at the lovers in unfettered joy. Elladan blushed.

Glorfindel’s aversion to public displays had tempered his own nonchalance about it. It only occurred to him now what a spectacle they must have made before Erestor and the others. And his father and brother had watched him and Glorfindel engage in further indubitably disreputable behavior! He turned concerned eyes on his lover who would be even more discomfited than he was.

But to his surprise, Glorfindel did not look in the least abashed but only thoughtful. And then he softly said, “Nay, not silver. _Gold._ ”

The three Peredhil were once again reduced to speechlessness. But Elrond quickly recovered his wits and, with commendable aplomb, pronounced: “Show me the design you desire and I will have it done at once.” When his son and captain smiled then looked at each other again with renewed longing, he quickly added, “And now, since you two seem in need of a, ah, long talk, may I suggest that you hold it in a more private setting?”

Elladan laughed out loud, the merry sound welcome after its long absence from the Last Homely House. He hugged his father and twin before grabbing Glorfindel’s hand and pulling him toward the door and out of the study. Not that the captain needed any prompting.

When they were gone, Elrohir turned to Elrond. The Elvenlord was unashamedly weeping.

“ _Ada!_ ” the Elf-knight exclaimed, quickly throwing his arms around Elrond. “Are you all right?”

Elrond chuckled through his tears, nodded heartily and gladly leaned into his younger son’s soothing embrace.

* * * *

The pair hardly made it into Glorfindel’s bedchamber before they practically tore at each other’s clothing. Indeed, the captain only waited for their breeches to come undone before he tumbled them both onto his bed and proceeded to kiss Elladan senseless.

The twin moaned incoherently against his mouth when he impatiently ground their rigid shafts together, unable to wait for a thorough shedding of their raiment. Desiring more friction, he pulled back and thrust himself between Elladan’s sleek thighs at the same time trapping the twin’s length between their hard bellies as they slid against each other. This was the closest Elladan had ever come to yielding in his previous associations with fellow _ellyn_ and he skillfully compensated for the figurative looser fit, pressing his thighs closer around Glorfindel’s shaft. He gloried in Glorfindel’s blissful groaned response.

Given their mutual, almost desperate lust, it did not take long for them to come to completion. Elladan huffed raggedly as he spilled his seed, dappling their abdomens and chests with pearlescent cream. A rapid succession of hoarse gasps later and Glorfindel spent himself, copious spurts of his release coating and seeping between Elladan’s legs.

Elladan lay back limply, languor creeping up on him in the wake of such edacious rutting. But it quickly became apparent that Glorfindel was not of like mind or feeling. Raising himself off his unresisting lover, he stripped Elladan completely then shed the rest of his own garments. Hardly had he drawn off his breeches when he virtually pounced on the drowsy twin once more with rapacious fervor.

Caught in Glorfindel’s sensual spell, Elladan arched into the captain’s onslaught, somnolence forgotten. Sleep could wait and indeed could not compete with the sensations of the slide and grip of hands on fevered skin, the touch and nibble of lips on tightening nipples, the press of rigid flesh against the sensitive line where groin met thigh. Sleep was completely vanquished when a pillow was slipped beneath his hips and in the next instant the wicked swipes of an insistent tongue warned of his imminent piercing by it.

One hand against his mouth, the back of it stifling the increasing volume of his expressions of pleasure, the other reaching down to rake through the golden sheaf of Glorfindel’s hair, Elladan fought the rapturous tumult building within his body. _Too much, too much_ , his senses screamed as each dip of Glorfindel’s tongue brought him closer to the summit of another climax. But Elbereth only knew how many fingers took its place and a hot mouth suddenly enclosed his resurgent shaft.

“Glorfindel!” he bit out, struggling to contain the almost painful ecstasy that surged through every cranny of his being. “I cannot take this!”

_Then let go, melethron._

Elladan was stunned by the silent reply. It was the uttermost intimacy, this linkage of their minds, and one Glorfindel had withheld from all but that first love who had caused him to shy from it in the first place. 

His control overthrown by his surprise, Elladan opened himself completely to the surfeit of bliss each fervent draw upon his shaft and every flex and delve of the fingers within his flesh yielded him. With a strangled cry, he spent himself in Glorfindel’s eager mouth, trembling quite helplessly as he was milked to the last, gorgeous drop.

The next thing he was aware of was Glorfindel’s lips upon his, kissing him with a gentleness that belied the hunger he could feel behind the caress. More kisses were bestowed upon his glowing face and down his throat and along his shoulders before Glorfindel reclaimed his mouth once more, slipping within to plunder its reaches at the same time that he slid deep into Elladan’s body.

Glorfindel groaned as he was gloved in soft moist heat. He could not quite explain what made the experience so wondrously different with Elladan, it simply was. His tongue mimicking the repeated thrusts of his shaft, he gave himself up to the pleasure and joy of knowing the older twin his in all senses of the word.

They lost themselves to the conflagration of their loving, their bodies moving in rhythmic abandon, every plunge of flesh into flesh pushing them closer to the precipice before the dizzying descent into mindless rapture. 

Reaching between their straining bodies, Glorfindel captured the slick tumescent column that prodded his belly and stroked it vigorously. Elladan gasped at the added stimulation and reared wildly, sheathing Glorfindel completely with each wanton lift of his hips, thus hastening their full unraveling.

With a harsh groan, Glorfindel buried himself to the hilt and spilt himself fulsomely within his lover. Elladan swiftly followed and Glorfindel felt the clenching of his muscles about his still pulsing shaft, the throbbing of his flesh in his palm and the spurt of warm seed upon his abdomen. He remained atop Elladan for some minutes to catch his breath.

At length, he rolled off Elladan to lie by his side. An inviting look and an outstretched hand and the older twin lay snug within the circle of his arms, his head tucked into the crook of his neck. He held Elladan close, breathing in the seductive indefinable scent that lay halfway between elven and mortal. 

He could have lost it forever. The sobering thought compelled him to tighten his hold on Elladan much to the twin’s wonder.

Even through the delicious haze of his ravaging, Elladan had perceived a change in Glorfindel’s demeanor. Since their reconciliation, Glorfindel had allowed his heretofore restrained possessiveness to pervade their couplings. Elladan had understood that it was as much a warning to him to never again transgress as it was a statement of territoriality. But this eve was different. A vital element was missing.

Glorfindel had never bedded him before with anything less than supreme confidence not only in his prowess but also in his exclusive right to Elladan’s favors. It was this confidence that gave him so much control over their relationship, carnal and otherwise. It had not been in evidence now; at least not to the same degree that Elladan had accustomed himself.

Elladan had sensed Glorfindel’s conflicting emotions—relief and worry had mingled uneasily with his lust and love. Glorfindel had taken him not with the air of one who knew his ownership of him and used their couplings as a not-so-subtle reminder of this fact. Rather, in this joining, the captain had re-staked his claim on him as if he had lost him and then found him but still feared that he could yet slip away from him once more. Elladan wondered what had passed in the space of one night to have altered the proud Noldo so profoundly.

Glorfindel whispered something that Elladan could not quite make out. He lifted his head to look at his lover and was taken aback to find the latter’s cheeks gleaming with tears. Raising himself on one arm, he looked down at the captain, lifting a hand to wipe the salty wetness away with his fingers.

“Glorfindel?” he asked with tender concern.

The captain drew a shuddery breath and turned glinting eyes on him. In a hushed voice he repeated what he had earlier uttered.

“Her name was Faelrin.”

*************************************  
Glossary:  
Peredhil – Half-elves/Half-elven  
ellyn – male Elves  
melethron – lover (m.)

_To be continued…_


	16. XV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter. It might be a good idea to get as comfortable as possible before reading it. The references to people, places and events in the First Age were basically gleaned from _The Silmarillion_ and only sparingly from LoTR.

Elladan curiously regarded the thick, large volume upon his lap. He glanced up wonderingly at Glorfindel who lounged before him, eyes intent upon his every expression.

They were in Elladan’s room, seated on the furs before the hearth, nursing cups of mulled wine. No other light brightened or heated the chamber though neither noticed it. The warmth of each other’s company was more than enough to dispel the twilight gloom.

It was a week since Elladan’s near avowal to follow his sister’s path. A week since Glorfindel so summarily snatched him back from it. Now was the eve of their binding ceremony for the captain had demanded it be accomplished at once. Elrond had not balked; the sooner his oldest son was bound in elven matrimony, the sooner he could rest secure in the knowledge that both his sons would join him in Valinor.

For the next three days or so, the couple had scarcely spent a moment apart. Their constant togetherness had led Elrohir to jestingly caution them from overexerting themselves to the point of passing their binding night in restorative slumber rather than invigorating union. After all, he gibed, his brother could only withstand so much before his backside started to protest such vigorous if loving usage. 

That prompted Glorfindel to restrain himself and force his attention back on his duties despite his lieutenants’ assertions that they would take up the slack and Elladan’s assurance that Elrohir had been exaggerating.

But tonight, the captain suddenly showed up at his lover’s door, a pitcher of hot, spiced wine in one hand and the book in the other. He said nothing about the tome until they had settled themselves before the fire and imbibed some of the wine. Only then did Glorfindel hand the book over to Elladan.

“‘Twas Faelrin’s,” he said. Elladan was startled. Apart from his one pronouncement that memorable evening a week ago, Glorfindel had not mentioned her again. “One of her sisters escaped the sack of Gondolin and made her way to Sirion with Tuor and Idril. When we met in Valinor upon my return, she gave it to me. She thought I might appreciate having a memento of our time together.”

Elladan looked incredulously at him. “She thought of taking a book with her whilst Gondolin burned down around her?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “You must understand, even when we believed ourselves hidden from our foes, we were ever prepared for the worst,” he explained. “Turgon may not have hearkened to Ulmo’s call to him to abandon Gondolin but he nonetheless warned us all to be set to flee should it come to that. And so every house had packs of belongings ready in case of a hurried departure. Faelrin shared one with her sister and kept this book within, always returning it for safekeeping after making an entry.”

Elladan stared at him in surprise. “Entry?” he echoed. He looked down at the volume and finally opened it. A soft gasp escaped him as he realized what he held in his hands.

It was no ordinary book but a journal. Its entries were written in a bold yet patently feminine hand. Here and there whole pages had been given over to illustrations—simple oil paintings and sketches rendered in charcoal. Each page had been treated with some transparent coating that protected these treasures; their lines and hues were nearly as dark or vivid as they had been when first set down on paper.

Glancing occasionally at his lover, he slowly flipped through the pages. The accounts within did not hail all the way back to Aman. Faelrin had apparently started it in Nevrast ere the move of Turgon’s people to Gondolin. 

He caught his breath as he came upon a charcoal sketch of a familiar-looking Elf mounted on his warhorse. The likeness was astounding. He looked at the captain questioningly.

“She was as much an artist as I,” Glorfindel softly said. “We shared many interests. Indeed, we were very much alike despite the difference in our callings. Though I was a soldier by nature, I was also drawn to intellectual and artistic endeavors; I still am. She was a scholar and a scribe but she was also as fierce and valorous as any warrior-maid. Mayhap that is why we were so close; why I deemed her dearest of all my friends.”

Elladan flipped through another few pages then stopped at an austere but expressive painting of an _elleth_. Glorfindel nodded at his inquiring glance and he gazed at the image of the one other Elf who had known the captain’s love. That Glorfindel had held her in high esteem was apparent in the care with which he had depicted her.

She was not a great beauty though Elladan conceded he was by no means a neutral observer when his grandam, mother and sister were hailed as the greatest beauties of this age. Her features were quite asymmetrical for an Elf, one eye slightly larger than the other, the left corner of her lips a tad higher than the right giving her a perpetually impish look. Even so, she was striking and attractive. You would not forget her face even if you had met her but once.

Her hair was dark brown shot through with amber streaks. Suddenly, he understood the reason for her name. He could imagine the crown of her head turning dark gold under the rays of the summer sun.

Glorfindel softly explained, “She possessed an exuberance that was far more alluring than mere physical beauty. I knew how coveted she was for I met many of her suitors.” He chuckled wryly. “She would ask my opinion of them but never heeded me for though she dallied with a chosen few, she took none in marriage, even amongst the Elves I urged upon her.”

Elladan choked on a chortle. “You played matchmaker for her?” he asked disbelievingly.

“I attempted to but she would have none of it,” Glorfindel replied with a wan smile.

The twin glanced down at the painting once more. Something about Faelrin’s expression as she regarded Glorfindel while he painted her had struck him earlier. On a hunch, he swiftly scanned several pages preceding and following the portrait. He bit his lip then looked up.

“Are you aware that she was already in love with you even then?” he asked. “‘Tis obviously the reason she refused all who wooed her.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I did not know it then,” he admitted. “She never told me how she felt. Not even when I finally declared my love to her did she confess her long desire for me.” He gravely looked at the image he had wrought. “I only discovered this truth about her when I read the journal the evening the Company departed.”

Elladan stared at him in surprise. “You did not read this when her sister first gave it you?”

The captain shook his head. “I only perused it fleetingly. I could not bear to read about what we’d shared knowing that it had ended in so much anguish and resentment and guilt.”

“Then what drove you to read it at last?”

“The thought that I might lose you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Glorfindel described his struggle that fateful night to grapple with his feelings and allow the remembered pain of loss to wash over him. But hard on that memory had come the even more heartbreaking prospect of losing Elladan forever.

“For the first time, I looked back at my life here in Imladris and realized that were it not for your refusal to leave me alone, I would have been the loneliest Elf in all the valley. Were you to forsake Elvenkind, you would leave an emptiness in my heart that would never be filled again. I understood then that the old emptiness was no longer there; that you had filled it with your loving. And there lay the difference. My first loss had been due to circumstances beyond my control. But were I to lose you it would be because of my fears and there would be no redemption this time around.”

Elladan gazed at him in compassion. He lifted his hand and slipped it behind the captain’s nape to pull him in for a tender kiss. When it ended he let his hand fall to clasp Glorfindel’s and hold it fast.

“Tell me what happened,” he gently encouraged his lover.

Glorfindel blinked several times to still the threat of tears before he could continue. He said, “Just before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, I felt my regard for her change. Or rather I realized that my great rapport with her was born not merely out of friendship but also of love; that I must have desired her from the moment I left childhood behind but did not recognize it as such. Call me a fool for not having known the true nature of my feelings for her but I had been raised to consider it unseemly to harbor lust for a friend. And so I set such thoughts aside. And as she believed I did not feel anything more than platonic affection for her, she chose to keep silent as well.”

“You were indeed much alike to think along the same lines,” Elladan remarked.

Glorfindel nodded. “Yet in other matters, we were quite dissimilar to the extent of exchanging harsh words.” He leaned back against the hearthside couch. “As I said, she was exuberant, almost recklessly so. She had a great sense of adventure and a cavalier attitude toward traditions and limitations. I, on the other hand, had been bred to place duty and honor above almost everything else. This difference led to many a quarrel between us even before we left Valinor.”

He paused. “I remember a conversation we had one day not many weeks ere the Noldor fled Aman. She asked me if I was curious about Middle-earth. If I had ever wondered what the land of our people’s awakening was like. I said 'nay.' I was happy in Valinor. I had no pressing desire to cross the Great Sea and discover what lay beyond. She scoffed at me then. She said, _'You may be content with your lot, Glorfindel, but I am not! I yearn for more than these hallowed shores. I want to see what lies across the Sea. Indeed, I would seize any chance to journey to the Hither Lands.'_ ”

The older twin caught his breath as he realized the implications of the Elf-maid’s words. “You followed Fingolfin because he was your lord to whom you had sworn allegiance,” he said. “But she saw exile as freedom from the constraints placed upon you by the Powers.”

The captain nodded again. “Only I knew that ‘twas not love of family or devotion to duty that tempted her away from the Blessed Realm. Not even her parents understood this; they were proud of her for choosing to go into exile with them while her sisters hesitated.”

“She thrived on the difficulties we endured, even the crossing of the Helcaraxë and the hard years when we strove to make a realm of our own," he said. "The wars did not daunt her and I imagine had she possessed the wherewithal to be a warrior, she would have been one of our most glorious soldiers. But she did not have the fleetness or physical strength or enough of an understanding of or patience with the discipline military service required.”

“We were happy with our friendship. I will not deny that I occasionally wondered what it might be like to lie with her but I was always fearful that to introduce that intimacy into our relationship would only ruin it. Especially if she obliged me for friendship’s sake. If there is one other thing I rue about the whole affair aside from its bitter end, it is that we wasted millennia dancing around the issue when we might have known years of bliss before the fall.”

“In wedlock, Glorfindel?” Elladan quietly asked, a catch in his voice.

The captain stared at him in some puzzlement before realizing what the twin was thinking. Had he wed Faelrin, he would not now be allowed to return Elladan’s love. He gripped Elladan’s hand tightly.

“Even had we wed, I would still be free to bind to you,” Glorfindel assured him. At the slight rising of a skeptical eyebrow he added: “All I would need do is invoke the Doom of Finwë and Miriel Serindë to gain the Valar’s permission to take another spouse.”

Elladan gasped in shock. “She remains within?” he blurted out.

“‘Twas her choice,” the captain said.

“Valar, how great was her sin against you that she should be so shamed to face you once more as one of the living?” Elladan wondered in a hushed voice.

“Yet ‘twas not her betrayal of our lovers’ pledge that doomed any future we could have had together,” Glorfindel sombrely commented. “But her betrayal of the trust we’d built as friends.”

Elladan gazed at him in mingled sympathy and absorption. “Go on then,” he said. “You said you realized you loved each other just before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.”

“Call it a foreboding of sorts,” Glorfindel continued. “I sensed that all would change after that battle though I did not know the extent of the evil that would befall our peoples. It was then I realized how deeply the thought of never seeing her again wounded me. And so I acknowledged my feelings at last and told her how I truly felt. My joy was beyond description when she told me she returned my love.”

The captain paused in his narration to pour more wine into their cups. After a few deep draughts, he went on with his tale.

“We had but a week to celebrate our love,” he murmured. “A week in which we spent every single night and every possible waking minute together. Before Turgon led the army out to that accursed battle. You know how that ended. How the greater number of our forces was obliterated. How your foresire retreated back to Gondolin with the remnants of our army. And how we closed the leaguer of the hills and never again opened it even to those who sought aid of us.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes for a moment, the memory of sorrow and regret clear in his pinched features. “My forebodings proved right,” he whispered. “Change came upon us indeed though not in the way I’d expected.”

“The guard on the Seven Gates in the Orfalch Echor and the passes in the Echoriath was tripled and the captains of Gondolin were charged with manning the watchtowers for six to eight years each term of duty. I stood watch four times in the thirty-eight years that followed, once as warden of the great gate at the end of the ravine road. The first was when Turgon issued his decree, the second just before Tuor came with Ulmo’s warning, the third when he and Idril wed and the fourth in the last years after Maeglin betrayed our fair city. It was hard on all of us for we could not visit our loved ones or receive visitors in turn. Only through trusted couriers could we send missives to our families and friends.”

“Yet for all your vigilance Maeglin managed to slip past the leaguer,” Elladan commented, briefly digressing. “How did he accomplish this?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “He was Turgon’s sister-son. Not even the king thought him capable of defying his edict. And he had always mined the Anghabar for iron. It was not uncommon for him to sojourn in the north of the Echoriath. Even I would not have suspected him.”

Elladan smiled. “I doubt that,” he said. “But, please—continue.”

Glorfindel took up the story once more. “Faelrin was upset when we were parted so soon after my return and begged me to ask for a reprieve from Turgon. She knew he favored my house because of our distant kinship. But I refused. How could I ask this of the king when my comrades were taking on their share of the burden without complaint? It became a bone of contention between us. She accused me of placing duty above her. I could not gainsay her but neither could I set duty aside. I understood as she did not how close to the edge of disaster we were.”

“It lay between us from thereon. Even when we reunited upon each of my returns, we knew the strain of it. But I did not realize just how deeply she resented my commitment to my charge and how it would serve to drive a wedge between us.”

“It was during my last watch that everything came undone. I was sent to replace Ecthelion as warden of the eastern passes. When I went to bid her farewell, she was more distraught than in all our previous partings. She said she could endure my absences no longer; that I had to choose else she would break our troth." 

"I was shaken by her threat; she had never issued an ultimatum before. And so I swore I would go to Turgon when I returned and request that this posting be my last for many a year. My promise seemed to pacify her and I left confident that all was well between us. And it seemed thusly for the next four years. But in the fifth year, I noticed her letters had become infrequent. And they were more often than not briefer and more distant than her wont.”

“Distant?” Elladan questioned.

“As if she were withholding things from me. Which was strange for we had seldom kept secrets from each other and certainly not for an extended period of time. I inquired after her but the messengers told me that of late she no longer personally delivered the missives to them but would send a servant in her stead. Again that was unusual for she was given to entrusting verbal messages to the couriers aside from her written dispatches.”

“My kinsfolk finally saw fit to enlighten me as to the cause. They wrote that she had been seen keeping company with other Elves and not in the manner of friends. And that her parents and sisters had taken to shunning contact with any of my house or those known to be my boon comrades. They suspected she was cuckolding me for why else the avoidance of her kin if not out of shame? The captain who relieved me at the end of my posting confirmed the validity of their suspicions. She, too, had heard the rumors. And she feared there was truth to them for the Elf who disclosed them to her was no gossipmonger but a reliable acquaintance.”

“I hastened home and went directly to her father’s house. They were shocked to see me and none opposed my demand for an audience with her. As she left the hall, her mother begged me to keep my temper in check lest I upset Faelrin overmuch. Before I could demand why I should heed her counsel, Faelrin arrived and I saw the reason for her mother’s plea. She had clad herself in a loose robe but there was no concealing the evidence of her infidelity to me.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes as if to shut out the searing images of that dreadful confrontation. But having loosed the memories, he could no longer push them back into the recesses of his consciousness. Even as he spoke, he saw once again the main hall of Faelrin’s home. He standing stunned by the dark hearth, she defiantly, almost proudly meeting his stare from across the room.

When he found his voice, his first words were: “Who is the father?”

“I know not,” she coolly replied.

Glorfindel looked at her in confusion. “How can that be? Did you not mark the moment of this child’s begetting?”

She laughed bitterly. “Not in my fraught state,” she snapped. “I did not feel the change until much later.” Her mouth tightened. “It could be any of the _ellyn_ who have comforted me in your absence.”

Glorfindel gritted his teeth. “How many?” he bit out.

“No less than a score.”

He nearly gaped in his shock. “Sweet Eru! Why, Faelrin?

“I merely matched the number you took to your bed in my stead.”

“What in creation are you talking about?”

“I know who my true friends are, Glorfindel,” she scornfully retorted. “They carried the tales of your betrayals to me. How you have passed the years in debauchery with your comrades-in-arms while I languished here for want of you!”

“And you believe these falsehoods?” he snapped. “You deem the bearers of lies your friends?”

“You deny their charge?”

“I do deny it!” Glorfindel cried. “I have lain with no one but you since we plighted our troth. You may question every warrior I kept vigil with, maid and male alike. I was true to you, Faelrin. As Elbereth is my witness, I did not stray.”

For the first time, she faltered, perturbed by the captain’s steadfast assertion. “Is this possible?” she responded doubtfully. “I know you dallied with them ere you wooed me. Could you have kept chaste in their company all these years?”

Something snapped within Glorfindel. That she had trysted with others was offensive enough. But to have done so out of lack of faith in his fidelity and they known to be the closest of friends afore they became lovers was an affront beyond bearing.

“Elbereth, they assailed me for prudery and all the while you were sullying your name and mine with your perfidy!” he shouted. He stepped closer, eyes brilliant with grief and mounting anger. “We have known each other for years uncounted; swore to always guard each other’s hearts and trust. Yet you took the word of newfound friends and did naught to seek my side of their sordid tales.”

Her eyes widened in sudden realization of her error. Watching her, Glorfindel saw the moment when the veil of her misapprehensions was lifted from her eyes. And the beginnings of fear and regret gleam in their dark depths. But he found he did not care what she was feeling at the moment. Not when she had not given much thought to what he would feel upon learning of her treachery. 

He advanced on her a shade threateningly, stalking her as a warrior would his cornered foe. She shrank back instinctively.

“Tell me, _melethen_ ”—my love—he almost spat with derision. “Of your so-called worthies, how many found their way into your bed to soothe your aching heart?”

She blanched. He knew he had aimed well. Fury overtook his anguish and he gave full vent to it.

“Faithless whore! I do not know you at all!” He pulled his betrothal ring from his finger as if it burned him and flung it at her. “Give that to the Elf who will own your bastard his.”

The captain swung on his heel and hastened to leave, the pain in his heart almost too great to bear. He heard her voice rise in a frightened wail behind him and sensed her attempt to follow him.

“Glorfindel, wait! Ah, forgive me, beloved!”

He half-turned and held his hand up, warning her to stay her advance. “Do not call me that!” he harshly commanded. “You forfeited the right to name me yours the first night you took another in my place.”

She mutely stared at him in misery and belated repentance. But he only dropped his eyes one more time to her swollen belly before departing. Not once did he look back.

“Glorfindel.”

The captain blinked then looked at his darkling lover. He realized with a start that he was weeping and that Elladan had pulled him into his arms. He sank further into the twin’s embrace, pressing his face against the latter’s shoulder. It was many minutes before he stilled the shaking of his tall frame and calmed his frayed nerves.

“We can defer the rest of this tale for another time,” he heard Elladan murmur. “I cannot bear to see you in such straits.”

Glorfindel shook his head and straightened up. He gazed at his anxious betrothed. “I want you to know this about me, _seron vell_ —beloved—he said. “Before you tie yourself to me irrevocably.”

Elladan snorted. “Do you think I would change my mind about you because of this?” he tenderly chided. “Continue then but for your own sake and not out of misguided chivalry toward me.”

The captain took a deep fortifying breath. “She attempted to contact me after that but I refused to see her. And my kin and other friends took care to shield me should it seem that we might cross paths. She sent letters but I neither read nor answered them. I did not want to think of her, did not want to see her, and certainly did not want to bear witness to the continued growth of the proof of her disloyalty. None of her erstwhile lovers had come forth to claim the child and none could fault them when she could not say who had sired it.”

“But then, I saw her again by chance and I was shocked by her appearance. She was but a shadow of her former self. If not for the obvious girth of her belly, she might have been mistaken for a mere wraith. Her father approached me and implored me to take pity on her and at least forgive her even if I did not take her back. He said she was so steeped in remorse that she no longer took heed of anything or anyone, not even her mother or sisters.”

Glorfindel broke off for a moment to stare at the briskly burning log in the hearth. “I told him I would think about it, then turned to take my place with the folk of my house upon the walls of Gondolin. We were awaiting the dawn. It was the eve of the Gates of Summer.”

Elladan gazed at him in horrified fascination. “Valar! The night your city fell!” he whispered.

Glorfindel drew a shaken breath. “We did not see them until they were beneath the northern wall. They broke the Gate and entered the city before we could form a sufficient defense. Balrogs and Trolls and countless Orcs crowded our streets and invaded our halls, slaying any and all they came upon. And the dragons set our dwellings afire with their very breath. I saw Ecthelion die even as he slew Gothmog. I witnessed the toppling of Turgon’s tower. And I watched Tuor cast Maeglin to his death upon the slopes of Amon Gwareth.”

“You know that Idril had devised a way out of the city, a northward tunnel beneath Tumladen. I was one of the few who had been entrusted with the secret. When word reached us that Turgon was slain, we knew the city was lost and we gathered what survivors we could find. It was then that I came upon Faelrin and her sister. They had managed to salvage their pack from their home and escape ere its roof collapsed. Not so the rest of their family.”

The captain leaned into Elladan’s embrace once more. “We could not speak long with each other, but she pleaded with me to permit her to make amends for the wrong she had done me. I unbent enough to tell her that if we survived, we would talk. Then Tuor called for my help and I had to leave her. Still, in the midst of ruin, I felt a glimmer of joy touch my heart again. I did not delude myself that all would be as before but, at the very least, there was a chance to renew the bond of affection we’d shared since our days in Valinor."

“But that hope came to naught when we hastened down the street that led to the secret way. Many alleys and lanes intersected it and somehow, in all the confusion, Faelrin was separated from us. I only realized she was missing when I heard her scream my name.” 

Glorfindel shuddered. “I saw her through the smoke in an alley just several feet from where I stood. She had blundered into a pack of Orcs and they had hemmed her in. She was terrified beyond belief and kept crying out my name. I longed to help her but to do so would be to betray my location and alert the Orcs to the existence of the tunnel. Had I been alone I would have gone to her, but I was now charged with protecting the remnants of our people. And there was also Eärendil to consider. I could not save Turgon but I was not going to let his only grandchild meet the same fate.”

“And so I delayed as long as I could, until the last Elves were almost within. I thought it safe to aid her then. But I was too late. I could only look on as they held her down, sliced her belly open and tore her unborn babe from her womb. She turned her head as she lay dying and I know she saw me at the last. And I watched the light leave her eyes as her spirit fled her body.”

Elladan held him tightly when he began to shake anew from the onslaught of recollections. Once more, tears flowed down his cheeks unhindered as he strove to calm himself.

“I did not long outlive her,” he whispered. “I never mourned her properly. Even within the Halls of Awaiting, I did not have the chance to grieve. Though I met others who had died with me, I never saw her again. Even when I was released centuries later and allowed to walk the streets of Tirion once more, still I did not see her. I wondered why when others whom I had known had also returned to life—Finrod and Ecthelion and Thingol were back. As were Fingolfin and his sons Fingon and Turgon." 

"I dared to approach Námo and thereby learned that she had foregone the chance to leave his halls. That after all she had discovered of my ‘legend’, she could not face me again. And so she had vowed to remain within forever and that is an oath that cannot be set aside even by Námo himself.” Glorfindel sighed in resignation. “Once more, I felt betrayed. First she had broken her pledge of faithfulness to me. Now she had broken her promise to set things aright and thereby withheld from me the chance to heal inside. For how could I close the wound she had dealt me when I could not understand why she had dealt it in the first place?"

"When her sister gave me this journal, all the feelings of hurt and rage were revived and I could barely look upon her image once more, much less read about her treachery. What I failed to consider was that I might have learned sooner the reason for her actions. That she would have written them down as well.”

“And did she write them down?”

“Aye, and quite extensively at that.”

“Then… why did she believe you capable of baseness?”

“‘Twas her fundamental dislike of the constraints of duty,” Glorfindel explained. “If you recall, she resented it when I had to part from her for long periods of time in the performance of it. She never fully comprehended the ties that bound me as warrior and vassal and Elf of honor. She could not believe that my oaths of loyalty and service were enough to bear me through our enforced separations. Because she would never have borne it, she fell to thinking that it would hold true for me as well. And so it was easy for her to believe that I had found lovers amongst my war-comrades to occupy me whilst I did my duty to king and kingdom.”

“Her discontent became apparent to many including some erstwhile suitors who had hoped to win her in marriage and been disappointed when she affianced herself to me. I wager they thought that by smearing my name, she would reconsider our betrothal and mayhap turn to one of them instead. I doubt they expected her to defile herself to spite me or that she would use them in that endeavor. In the end, we all lost—I, she and they who turned her against me.”

Elladan kept silent after Glorfindel finished speaking. At length, he stirred and looked once more at the visage of the Elf who had shared so much of his lover’s first existence.

“Have you forgiven her?” he softly inquired. The Noldo solemnly nodded. Elladan frowned thoughtfully. “If she knew you as well as you say she did, surely she would have realized that you would have pardoned her eventually however long it might take. Why did she shy from the chance when it was offered? Why immure herself forever within the Houses of the Dead? Námo mentioned your ‘legend’. What did that have to do with her decision?”

“I did not understand then but now I think I do,” Glorfindel said. “Within the Halls of Mandos there is only memory of the past. When one’s spirit passes into those halls, one ceases to be a part of what goes on in the world without. When the souls of the dead speak amongst themselves it is always in reference to what was, not what is or will be. There is no concept of time or its passage or the events that would mark it. I think she learned of my fate on Cirith Thoronath and finally realized what my calling had demanded of me. That the oaths she had so decried and belittled were binding unto death and that I had honored them in full. I think she came to believe there was nothing she could say or do that could possibly redress the pain she had caused me or restore her honor in my eyes.”

Elladan gazed at his lover in some astonishment. “Then she is truly to be pitied, Glorfindel,” he remarked. “And not least for being a fool and a stubborn fool at that.” 

When the captain would have protested, he laid his finger against the latter’s lips, forestalling his words. 

“You say she could not comprehend your vocation and beliefs. I say she would not. Because to do so would have compelled her to revise her opinion of your chosen path and forced her to admit that hers was the more ruinous one.” The older twin shook his head. “Methinks it was fortunate you did not marry. You were fractious enough as friends. I shudder to picture you in wedded acrimony.”

Glorfindel let out a gust of laughter that was half amused and half rueful. “Aye, that is most likely,” he agreed. “I suppose on some level I knew this, which would account for my reluctance to bind to her soonest.” He regarded Elladan in equal parts affection and uncertainty. “And now, are you still set upon that course?”

“Need you ask that?” Elladan rebuked gently. “Come, take your ease, _melethron_ ”—lover—he bade Glorfindel, urging him to lie upon the furs beside him. “I would have you ready for tomorrow’s revelry and the toil to follow.”

“ _Toil?_ ” Glorfindel repeated with some mirth. “Is that how you see our binding?”

Elladan chuckled. “Not our binding but what will make it the success I know it will be. As I struggled to win your heart, so will I labor to guard it now that you have given it into my keeping.”

Glorfindel gazed at him in wonder then pulled him in for a long, breathstealing kiss. Afterward, he held his lover close and said: “And I will do no less, my Elladan. If this be my penance for my egregious treatment of you, I will undertake it with all gladness.”

Elladan shushed him with a searing kiss of his own. No more words were spoken that night as they permitted their bodies to express what lay deep in their hearts.

*****************************  
Glossary:  
elleth – Elf-maid  
Nirnaeth Arnoediad – Battle of Unnumbered Tears (473 F.A.), the name given to the disastrous fifth battle in the Wars of Beleriand  
Helcaraxë – the ‘Grinding Ice’, the strait between Middle-earth and Araman, the northern barren wasteland on the coast of Aman  
Echoriath – the ‘Encircling Mountains’ about the plain of Tumladen  
Tumladen – ‘The Wide Valley’, the hidden vale in the Echoriath in the midst of which stood the city of Gondolin  
Orfalch Echor – the great ravine through the Echoriath by which Gondolin was approached  
Anghabar – iron mine in the north of the Echoriath  
ellyn – male Elves  
Amon Gwareth – the hill upon which Gondolin was built in the midst of the plain of Tumladen  
Cirith Thoronath – ‘Eagles’ Cleft’, the high pass in the mountains north of Gondolin, where Glorfindel battled a Balrog to the death in defense of the survivors of the sack of Gondolin

_To be continued…_


	17. XVI.

The last rays of the winter sun left the bedchamber awash in faint red and gold hues. Dusk inexorably approached and with it the first binding ceremony to be held in the Last Homely House east of the sea in centuries. It was cause for celebration in all the vale despite the uncertainty of what was happening in the lands beyond. Elrond and his children gathered together one last time before their family welcomed another into its fold.

The Lord of Imladris looked upon his progeny with boundless pride and joy. He knew that few could equal their collective and individual splendor. But far more than the resplendence of their countenances and forms did he rejoice in the beauty of their spirits. He had been blessed beyond measure when Eru gave him such wondrous souls to sire.

He watched his sons as they attended to each other, Elladan adjusting Elrohir’s belt, Elrohir fastening the small clasp on Elladan’s mantle. Arwen glided across the room with effortless grace, bearing a collar of mithril links and square-cut diamonds in her hands. This she slipped around Elladan’s neck to rest against the snowy fabric of his attire.

The whole family was arrayed thusly—indeed, the principals in the ancient ritual that would take place under the stars would all be clad in white. But while any embroidery on the clothing of the two intended or ornaments donned by them were limited to the muted colors of silver, gold or grey, the others bore more colorful needlework and jewelry.

The bodice of Arwen’s gown displayed clusters of primroses and forget-me-nots. A silver girdle inlaid with precious stones encircled her waist. Her flowing skirt was gathered high in front to reveal the filmy layers of her shift which bore more of the dainty pink and blue flowers that graced her upper body. Her dark hair was caught up and held in place by a simple tiara.

Elrond’s formal robe was embellished with the emblem of the Eldar, a crescent moon in silver purl borne by Galathilion, the white tree of the Firstborn that stood before the Mindon in fair Tirion upon Túna. More purl had been used to evince the silver nether sides of the tree’s dark green leaves. A circlet of mithril and gold sat upon Elrond’s brow.

The Elvenlord smiled at his twin sons. They looked more alike than ever this day when one was about to cleave to another in matrimony.

Beneath their formal raiment they wore long white shirts and pale grey hose and dress boots. Belts of linked silver enclosed their slender waists and silver circlets crowned their heads. Both had not surprisingly eschewed the traditional floor-length robes for the close-necked court tunics they always favored for such affairs. Hanging from their shoulders were long mantles of fine silk.

Here the similarity ended for whereas Elladan’s mantle was white and bore Vingilot with her swan-shaped prow, golden oars and silver lanterns and sails, Elrohir’s was grey and upon it was a silver star against a field of tiny crystals and white and silver clouds, evincing the way the Peredhil’s foresire, Eärendil, outshone all the stars in the firmament when he was at his brightest. And the mithril collar about Elrohir’s neck bore cabochon-cut sapphires instead of diamonds.

In this moment, the siblings looked every inch the scions of the Elven kings of old—compelling, commanding and comely beyond belief.

Elrond placed his hands on his older son’s shoulders and gripped them fondly. “At last you have come to your desire,” he said beamingly. “Indeed, you have all found your heart’s homes,” he continued, looking at Elrohir and Arwen. “I pray I shall be permitted to witness every one of your bindings ere I must depart into the West.”

“Should the Ring-bearer fulfill his Quest, you shall, _Ada_ —Papa— Elrohir assured him. Arwen was quick to agree.

Elladan smiled faintly at them, knowing how deeply they missed their betrotheds. He hugged his father then gripped his brother and sister’s hands.

“I still cannot quite believe that I have finally won my elusive captain," he said with a soft laugh. “It seems strange that but a week ago I had despaired of ever doing so.”

“And have you discovered the cause for his elusiveness?” Arwen quietly inquired. She was not always privy to her brothers’ deepest secrets but she was as discerning as they and their father and had long suspected that all was not always well with Elladan and Glorfindel.

Elladan nodded, his smile widening. Only Elrohir knew some of what Glorfindel had revealed to him the night before but there was much more that would forever be his and his lover’s secret alone.

“His hesitation was more than justified,” he admitted. “I cannot blame him for fearing to venture himself in love once more.”

“Yet had he been more forthcoming long ago, you would not have come so close to sacrificing yourself for naught,” Elrohir pointed out.

“Now, now, _tôr vell_ ”—dear brother—Elladan chuckled, understanding his twin’s lingering pique. “We agreed to leave that where it belongs—in the past. And I was as much at fault in permitting matters to go on as they did and for so long. And as much out of fear as he that I might lose him should I demand more than he felt ready to give. Neither of us comported ourselves with good sense I must admit.”

Elrond snorted and said, “As if one can dredge up any sense at all when in the throes of love. If you erred, it was only to be expected, and only the degree of it might merit reproof. I would be far more skeptical of an extremely tidy affair with no passion or dissent to stir up matters here and then.”

“Spoken from experience, Ada?” Elrohir grinned.

“And lore,” Elrond added. “Three ages worth of it.”

* * * *

They waited until the stars had appeared before making their way to the porch where the binding rites would take place. It was on the western side of the house, chosen because it was not open to the icy drafts from the east that had the one non-elven member of the wedding party shivering all the way to his marrow. The Elves were not troubled by the cold but Bilbo Baggins was and it was for the plucky old hobbit’s sake that this sheltered spot had been selected.

The hush that greeted the arrival of Elrond and his children was resonant in its silence. Most of the household had been with the family since the founding of Imladris yet the Peredhil could still astound them with their singular beauty. But it was an audible gasp that announced the appearance of Glorfindel, flanked by those of his warriors whom he held dearest. Elladan was transfixed from the moment he laid eyes on his mate-to-be.

Glorfindel had plaited his golden hair in the austere but elegant manner of the ancient warrior-lords of Gondolin and upon his brow was a circlet of _mithril_ with a single stone of adamant in its center. He had chosen as the brethren and in lieu of formal robes had donned a court tunic. Draped over his shoulders was an immaculate mantle bedecked with the emblem of his House of the Golden Flower.

Cut in the Noldorin style from the First Age, the tunic was a hand span longer than the brethren’s, bore short sleeves and opened halfway down the front. His shirt was the color of pale wine with a high collar and long cuffed sleeves; his hose and boots were pure white. In some awe, the twin realized that the tunic was not of recent vintage but one the captain had brought with him from Valinor upon his return to Middle-earth.

From Glorfindel’s neck hung a necklace wrought in the fashion of three ages ago—clearly an heirloom piece. Nine miniature engraved gold plates adorned the double-stranded chain. Each plate depicted an image from the ancient past; a past Glorfindel had known intimately. 

There were Telperion and Laurelin before their hallowed lights were extinguished. The natural arch in the harbor of the Telerin city of Alqualondë. A stylized map of the wide streets and spacious courts of Tirion. Sacred Taniquetil upon which stood Ilmarin, the mansions of Manwë and Varda. The lamplit quays of Avallonë on Tol Eressëa. Vinyamar beneath Mount Taras in Nevrast. Thorondor’s eyries in the craggy peaks of the Crissaegrim. The Orfalch Echor and its seven gates. And last and largest, the Hidden City itself upon Amon Gwareth with the tower of Turgon proudly reaching skyward. 

Elladan surmised that an Elf of Glorfindel’s house had rescued the necklace from the sack of Gondolin and borne it to Valinor after the Great Battle that ended the First Age.

So enthralled was he by the vision the captain presented that he failed to note until after a minute or so that Glorfindel was eyeing him likewise. And with more than mere appreciation for his graces. Blue flames smoldered in the warrior’s eyes as he gazed at his Peredhel lover, proclaiming to one and all that Elladan was his and his alone. Under that openly possessive stare, Elladan found himself blushing for the first time in centuries under a lover’s regard.

Elrond exchanged smiles with Erestor as they took their respective places. Glorfindel had requested the counsellor to stand as his kin and the latter had acceded to the request with great delight. His wife stood with Elrohir and Arwen to one side of the couple. The rest gathered around them. Led by Lindir, their voices lifted in songs of praise to almighty Eru and the Valar. The music resounded through the valley, warming the hearts and lifting the spirits of all who heard.

Silence fell upon the small crowd when presences other than theirs made themselves felt. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Elladan faced the Elf he had come to believe could never be his. But when they clasped hands, Glorfindel lifted Elladan’s hand and with a tender caress of his lips banished the twin’s fraught emotions leaving only joy and anticipation in their place.

In the way of the Elves the ceremony was simplicity itself yet moving in its solemnity and the profundity of its intent. The vows exchanged placed no limits of time or place on the joining of their souls but spanned existence beyond the life of Arda itself. From this day onward there would be no sundering their bond of espousal and woe to any even unto the Valar themselves who sought to come between them.

The gold bands that symbolized their mating found their berths on the index fingers of their right hands. Blood was let and an eternal link was forged. And the warmth of blessing and approval from invisible entities beyond the ken of mortal men waxed even as the elven flames of the now bound lovers burned hotter than ever.

Hardly had the blood between their joined hands ceased to flow when Glorfindel pulled Elladan into a crushing embrace and all but soldered their mouths together. It was a sight Rivendell had not been treated to by their reticent, oh so proper captain. Only the counsellors managed to contain their shock having been treated to a similarly eye-opening display just days ago.

Glorfindel maintained enough presence of mind to recall that they were not alone and with great reluctance released his rather breathless mate. Arwen laughingly dove into the breach to hug her new law-brother and welcome him into the family.

Of the feast that followed, the captain had no complaints save that it was a tad too long for his liking. Or rather his need. 

The wine was the finest to be had, the food so far above reproach as to be deemed beyond excellent and the atmosphere so convivial, so heartily hopeful, that for this night at least the woes and perils beyond the borders of Imladris were forgotten. But Glorfindel had little patience for merriment and company this eve. 

For the longer he was forced to behave toward Elladan with no more intimacy than to hold his hand, touch his back or plant a quick kiss on his much too delectable lips, the brighter did his flame burn and the greater did his need mount. Which, as midnight approached, he decided he was in dire need of doing soonest if he was to spare Elladan too much discomfort from an excess of hard ridings in the space of one night. 

And so he strode over to where his darkling mate was happily conversing with a few friends and well-wishers and, with the barest of by-your-leaves, plucked him from their midst. An almost hilariously hasty goodnight to his spouse’s amused family and he was propelling said spouse down the hall to their new apartment.

Elrond had gifted them with a spacious suite of rooms in the less populated rightmost corner of the residential wing of the house. It was as much for their former neighbors’ peace as it was for their own comfort. In the week leading up to this day, there had been many a comment from those occupying the rooms immediately adjacent to their respective quarters that Glorfindel seemed to have completely discarded his previous aversion to public scrutiny of his intimate affairs. 

No one begrudged Elladan his delight at being so openly if lustily acknowledged at last but even Elves need a good night’s rest now and then.

Elladan grinned when they entered the apartment. Wine and fruit had been laid out on the small table in the sitting room, the hearth in the sleeping chamber had been lit and the wide, four-poster bed had been turned down in readiness for the night. But all these amenities were lost on Glorfindel. 

They could have been in a dank empty cave with only moss or heather for bedding for all he cared. He simply pulled Elladan toward the bed, hauled him into a scalding kiss then drew away and, tugging impatiently at his belt, growled: “ _Heltho!_ ” Strip!

Elladan blinked, just the least bit overwhelmed by his lover’s urgency. A glare from the captain prompted him to dispense with hesitancy and he hurriedly did as he was bid. Within seconds of shedding the last of his clothing, he found himself on the bed and at the receiving end of a marauding mouth and rapacious hands.

“Glorfindel!” he yelped at a particularly sharp nip to a much too taut nipple. “There is no need for haste, _meleth_!”—love!

Pausing for only as long as it took to voice a reply, Glorfindel retorted, “There is for me. I am nigh fit to burst!” He swooped down and virtually swallowed Elladan whole.

The twin cried out at the peremptory assault. He reached for his overly ardent spouse. “Then let me help you spend some,” he urged.

Glorfindel glanced up at him and, with a smirk, nodded and shifted about that they might pleasure each other simultaneously. Elladan gasped then chuckled at his first sight of his mate’s predicament and, without further ado, applied himself to taking the edge off Glorfindel’s over-sharp desire. It was the only thing to do if he wanted the first coupling of the night to last longer than a few stabs of the captain’s sword.

He eagerly drew upon the rosy column, relishing the glide of velvet skin against his tongue and the considerable length and thickness that filled his mouth to capacity. Glorfindel groaned around his own mouthful of sweet, hard flesh as his mate skillfully brought him ever closer to much needed release. Every sensation was heightened now that they could sense each other’s pleasure in full. They could only imagine what the joining of their bodies would effect.

They spent themselves within minutes, supping of the opulent cream of each other’s completion before seeking the union of their mouths once more. Elladan smiled to himself as he felt the still rigid shaft that prodded his belly, evidence that Glorfindel’s passion had been little abated by his release. A moment later, Glorfindel proved this when he reached for Elladan’s firm backside and eased his fingers down its cleft.

With a soft laugh, Elladan rolled over on his belly then positioned himself on hands and knees. Glorfindel raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Methinks you need a good, hard ride,” Elladan said.

The captain laughed back. “More than I ever thought I would,” he admitted as he molded himself to Elladan’s back. “Splendor of Eru, I have not felt such need in all my years. You have ensorcelled me, Peredhel.”

Before Elladan could respond, he drove his shaft home, eliciting a startled moan from his mate. He did not give Elladan much time to adjust to him but began the long, deep plunges that most oft had the twin pushing back against him desperately, begging for more. It was no different now though his initial spending allowed him to prolong their coupling.

They moved as they always had—in perfect synchrony, answering each other’s unspoken needs with every thrust and counterthrust. Glorfindel leaned low and pressed hungry kisses to Elladan’s spine, the back of his shoulders, his nape and just behind his ears, eliciting a litany of gasps, moans and whimpers from below. When he heard the first of Elladan’s pleas, he reached around to stroke him to an explosive finish.

The tightening around his length and the increasingly erratic backward lunges of Elladan’s hips warned the captain of his mate’s impending release. He embedded himself as deeply as he could in Elladan’s core and thereby reaped the full effects of the twin’s climax. The clenching of satin bound muscles around his shaft milked him rigorously, smiting him with as much rapture as the flow of ecstasy from Elladan to him. He spent himself copiously, his pleasure drawing out Elladan’s bliss in turn.

The shock of that first brush with the amplified rapture wrought in a coupling between bound Elves left them quite speechless. Disengaging their bodies, they lay entwined for some minutes without speaking while they awaited the quieting of their pounding hearts.

At last, Elladan lifted his tousled head and languidly looked at his golden spouse. “I trust you are content?” he murmured.

Glorfindel smiled. “For the moment,” he drawled. “But I have not yet had my fill of you, _pen neth_ ”—young one—“and morning is still many hours away.”

Elladan chuckled and dropped a kiss on the captain’s shoulder. “There is something I would very much like to know,” he said. At Glorfindel’s encouraging nod, he continued. “The night you told me you knew about my—misadventure in Lórien… Why did you bed me if you meant to leave me?”

Glorfindel did not respond at once but trained his gaze awhile on the darkness outside their windows. Finally he looked at Elladan and said, “‘Twas as much my farewell to you as a means to show you what you would forego when you chose to be with him. But it was also my way of gleaning one last memory of our time together. For the times when I would no longer have you with me.”

Elladan stared at him. “Then you felt our separation as keenly as I did?” he asked.

“Every single day,” Glorfindel whispered.

It did not take long for their passion to flare anew. Glorfindel pulled Elladan atop him and plied his mouth against the pale flesh of his slender throat while his hands roamed his mate’s body with lubricious fervor. When they began to grind their hips against each other, Elladan collected his wits and righted himself.

Glorfindel came out of his lustful haze to stare at him. Elladan was on his knees, astride the captain’s groin, one hand on Glorfindel’s hip to steady himself as his other hand reached behind to guide his lover home. But of a sudden Glorfindel knew it was time to entrust himself even further to his beloved.

“Wait,” he murmured, placing a restraining hand on Elladan’s thigh.

Elladan looked at him curiously but obeyed and did not lower himself onto Glorfindel’s rigid shaft. To his surprise, the captain urged him to shift so that he came to rest between Glorfindel’s legs instead. He caught his breath at the thought of what their altered position entailed. 

Though Glorfindel had yielded to him enough times to content him, the actual number was certainly far from numerous and never had the reborn warrior once faced him on these occasions.

“Do you truly desire this?” Elladan murmured.

Glorfindel lifted his long legs and locked them around Elladan’s waist. “I feel safe with you, Elladan,” he softly said.

They smiled at each other before Elladan pushed in, sinking into Glorfindel’s velvet warmth until he was sheathed to the hilt. Peering closely at his mate’s face for any signs of discomfort, he saw how Glorfindel instinctively averted his face only to draw a shuddery breath and turn his head to face Elladan once more. But his eyes were shut, hiding them and the feelings they revealed. 

It dawned on the older twin then. He was not merely the only _ellon_ to whom Glorfindel had yielded in his second life but also the only _ellon_ to behold the warrior’s complete surrender in both lives.

_You_ are _safe with me, Glorfindel_ , he silently assured the fair-haired Elf.

Glorfindel opened his eyes as the comforting thought touched his mind and looked at him. He reached up and pulled Elladan down into a spate of molten yet ever so tender kisses. 

At length their lips drew apart but not their gazes. Elladan could not tear his eyes away from Glorfindel’s face, noting every flicker of emotion that crossed the captain’s features as his body was repeatedly breached and stroked and claimed. Saw the reluctance to admit enjoyment of such abject surrender mingle with ecstasy. Elladan decided to cross that invisible line once and for all. 

Grasping Glorfindel’s hands, he held them down in a mute yet eloquent request for Glorfindel to entrust all of himself to him. Entranced by the utter love in his mate’s pewter eyes, the proud Noldo complied.

As the first waves of their shared rapture approached, he allowed the dam of his control to break and opened himself utterly to Elladan’s probing eyes. The twin caught his breath as he witnessed that transformation. He did not think he had ever seen Glorfindel look so vulnerable. Or so breathtakingly beautiful. 

Elladan sealed their mouths together, his tongue mimicking the delving of his shaft. His hand reached between them to ensure the captain’s release as well as his own.

The waves crested then crashed upon them with such fearsome force that for a moment or two they lost all conscious thought as pure sensation reigned over their minds and bodies. Warm cream coated Elladan’s fingers and dappled their bellies and chest while liquid heat spilled deep into Glorfindel’s very core. Elladan did not quite recall when he finally withdrew from his mate; he only remembered coming to rest against his body.

When Elladan came back to full awareness, he quickly looked down at Glorfindel in concern. Espying a suspicious brightness in the captain’s crystalline eyes, he felt a spike of alarm surge through him. But Glorfindel pulled him close.

“I am neither hurt nor regretful,” he whispered. “I cannot say what merited me this second chance but I am deeply grateful that the Powers saw fit to bestow you upon me. Know that I will treasure you always, my Elladan.”

The older twin gazed at him with quiet joy. For the longest time, they remained thusly, happy to lie together and behold each other’s faces. And then a roguish smile lit up Elladan’s handsome features.

“As you said, morning is still many hours away,” he teased. “Do you really think yourself up to it, _pen iaur_?”—ancient one.

Glorfindel choked on the gibe then allowed himself a mirthful snort. He threatened: “Beware, imp, lest I teach you to be more respectful of—”

“My elders?” Elladan interjected with a smirk.

The captain growled and pounced on him. A good three quarters of an hour passed before either of them spoke with any coherence once more.

“I really must remember not to goad you overmuch,” Glorfindel heard Elladan murmur against his shoulder, his voice thick with pleasure and satisfaction. The captain could not quite stifle a smug snicker.

***********************************  
Glossary:  
Mindon – the tower of Ingwë, High King of the Eldar, in Tirion  
Tirion - city of the Elves on the hill of Túna in Aman  
Vingilot – ‘Foam-flower’, the name of Eärendil’s ship  
Alqualondë – chief city and haven of the Teleri on the shores of Valinor  
Taniquetil – highest mountain in Valinor and Arda upon which Ilmarin, the mansions of Manwë and Varda stood  
Avallonë – city of the Eldar on Tol Eressëa, ‘The Lonely Isle’  
Vinyamar – Turgon’s house under Mount Taras in Nevrast  
Nevrast – region along the original northwestern coast of Middle-earth wherein Turgon and his people dwelt before they removed to Gondolin  
Crissaegrim – the mountain-peaks south of Gondolin that harbored the eyries of Thorondor, king of the eagles  
ellon – male Elf

_To be continued…_


	18. XVII.

Mirkwood, _Gwaeron_ 15 T.A. 3019  
Glorfindel withdrew his sword from the still quivering form at his feet. A moment later, the orc stilled and he lifted his eyes to look at the other strewn carcasses about him for any movement. Seeing none he bent and wiped his bloody blade on the crushed grass before slamming it into its sheath. The sounds of faltering snarls and pain-filled moans had ceased to resonate through the forest.

The army from Rivendell had arrived in Mirkwood the evening before the assault from Dol Guldur began. 

It had been a vicious battle. The orcs had hacked and burned their way nigh to the very heart of the Silvan Elves’ realm, intent on bringing about the ruin of the stubborn, valorous folk of the ancient green wood. And they might have succeeded had it not been for the timely assistance of Imladris.

The orcs had swarmed along the elven track, expecting resistance but confident of the Wood-elves’ lesser numbers. Great was their surprise and consternation when grey and silver joined green and brown to repel them. But the orcs’ bloodlust was strong and their hate even stronger. And they were many—far more numerous than their Elven foes even with the reinforcements from Rivendell. 

They thought they would overwhelm the Elves ere long. But they recked little of the endurance and mastery of the Elves or their bitter loathing of the foul creatures spawned in the depths of time. What should have been a rout turned into a daylong battle in the darkness beneath the densely packed trees. In the end, numbers had counted for naught before the superior skills of the Firstborn.

The Noldorin captain scanned the bloodstained, entrail-ridden ground with a grimace then frowned sadly at the sight of scored and scorched tree trunks and burned and trampled brush and vines. They had the victory but the forest had paid dearly. It would take time for Northern Mirkwood to heal. But time would matter little to the Wood-elves who would nurse their home back to haleness however long it took.

More fires were being built. But this time, the flames would be fed by Goblin corpses. Glorfindel spared just enough of his attention to ensure not a single orc still lived before going in search of Thranduil. The Elvenking had been in the very thick of the fighting. Glorfindel prayed he would find Legolas’ father alive and whole.

As he made his way to where the main body of the Wood-elves’ forces had gathered, he felt the now familiar nagging at the edge of his consciousness. Like a whisper that resounded in a silent room. He slowed his stride a moment and closed his eyes, seeking that tenuous connection that surged and ebbed without cease. 

He knew that Elladan had seen battle this day as he had. He had felt the twin’s emotions as he fought whatever evil he faced through the channel that linked them. And he knew Elladan had known his feelings as well. Now the channel was quiescent but not closed; it never was.

He sought evidence of his mate’s safety and wholeness. The reassurance came ere long on a note that none heard but he. Elladan was well for the present. His beloved still lived and breathed as he did. He felt Elladan’s ephemeral touch and answered it swiftly, giving ease of mind to the other as well. The touch faded but left its imprint on his awareness.

It was more than a month since the message from the south had arrived, borne by a fierce goshawk that flew away as soon as Elrond had taken the tiny cylinder tied to its leg. Within had been a rolled piece of parchment and a short cryptic message entreating the Rangers of the North to ride to Aragorn in far-off Rohan.

They could only guess who had sent it. Elrond did not accept the general supposition that Aragorn had but shared his own surmise only with his family. 

Grave the events in the south must be if the Lady of the Wood did not dare affix any evidence of her hand in the matter for fear of interception. Neither she nor Celeborn could wish to draw attention to Lothlórien. A Ring of Power guarded the Golden Wood but that did not mean that the realm would escape utterly unscathed if the Dark Lord chose to vent his anger on it.

Glorfindel had known the brethren would wish to go to the war. Not out of war-lust or a hunger for adventure but rather the call of kinship. Aragorn was their foster brother, the Dúnedain the other half of their heritage. They would go out of duty and honor and love for the race from which their foresires Beren and Tuor were sprung.

He had been loath to part from Elladan but part they had after a long night’s loving. He had seen Elladan off the following dawn, holding his fears inside lest he unwittingly daunt his lover’s fierce resolve. Seeing to the preparations for his own journey to Mirkwood had helped blunt some of the ache of longing and anxiety.

And not an hour too soon had he and his warriors arrived in the woodland kingdom as the carnage about him attested. Thank Eru they had made it before Dol Guldur’s army had descended on the Wood-elves’ realm.

He espied Thranduil at last. The Elvenking was attending to the unpleasant business of administering the coup de grâce to a passel of still twitching orcs. Glorfindel waited while the king and his soldiers slit the throats of their foes, silencing them once and for all.

Thranduil looked up and saw the Imladrin captain. He motioned to Glorfindel to approach.

“Think you there will be more?” the captain asked.

Thranduil shook his head. “Not if the news my scouts have brought me just now are accurate. Dol Guldur marches on Dale and Erebor.”

Glorfindel scowled. “Can we help them?”

“We would not reach them in time to make much of a difference even did I have the numbers,” Thranduil said. “They will stand or fall by their own wits and valor. But I do not think they will be overcome. The Lonely Mountain is nigh impregnable if it comes to a siege. They will hold out far longer within than I could in this forest without aid. As for Lórien…”

“You have news of Lórien?”

Thranduil raised his hand. Glorfindel watched in curiosity as a silvery grey bird-of-prey swooped down and grasped the Elvenking’s forearm in its mighty talons. Thranduil fondled the creature’s head before looking back at the Noldo.

“This falcon carried the news to us. I warrant Elrond has already received the same. Lórien was invaded by a force from that black hold but four days ago. And Celeborn believes there will be more. They are bracing for another assault on their northeastern borders even as we speak.” He shook his head. “‘Tis a shame that the first direct word I have had from my kinsman in centuries should come in a time of trial.”

They fell silent for a space as the last of the orcs in the immediate vicinity were hauled away to the bonfires. Then Thranduil looked sharply at Glorfindel, a hard glint in his eyes.

“I did not foresee that in permitting my last-born to bear the news of Gollum’s escape to Imladris that I would be sending him into the bed of Elrond’s son!” he said with some umbrage.

“Legolas is no mere bed-treat to Elrohir, my king,” Glorfindel countered. “That your son bears a betrothal ring is evidence of Elrohir’s intentions. The Peredhil do not pledge their hearts lightly.”

Thranduil eyed him intently. “You are bound to one Peredhel twin. Tell me, Balrog slayer, what can my son expect of the other? I am told they are very much alike.”

“In face and form, yea, they are alike,” Glorfindel replied. “But Elladan is the more forbearing and less sharp-tongued. He is also the more cautious of the two. Elrohir is impulsive and has no qualms about voicing his opinions however they might rankle. And he does not hesitate to take what he desires though never in force or coercion. There is no evil whatsoever in Elrond’s sons.”

He paused, seeing the flicker of displeasure in Thranduil’s eyes. He knew what the Elvenking was thinking. Could guess that the other Elf was pondering the swiftness with which Elrohir had bedded his youngest son and won his assent to be wedded as well. He imagined that Thranduil was ruing that far more than Legolas’ inclusion in the Company of the Ring. 

The woodland monarch, while civil and cooperative with his Eldarin allies, was as insular as the Silvan Elves he ruled. It could not truly please him to see one of his children join his future to an Elf not of his own tribe.

Well, too late, Glorfindel thought, smiling to himself. Once a Peredhel set his or her sights on someone, that someone was as good as taken.

“You need not fear for Legolas’ well-being,” he continued. “He will not want for love or anything he might desire if it is within Elrohir’s power to grant it. ‘Tis the way of the Peredhil. They are fiercely loyal and nobler of spirit than any I have met amongst Elves or Men. ‘Tis a blessing beyond compare that Elladan chose to bestow his heart on me. You should count it an honor that your Legolas won Elrohir’s love, Thranduil. He will find no better match in all Arda, of this I can assure you.”

His earnestness struck a chord in Thranduil. The king smiled faintly and said: “You champion them most eloquently, my lord Glorfindel. And convincingly as well. Methinks I should prepare my folk for the advent of another prince in this kingdom.”

The Elvenking strode away to gather his soldiers for the long march home. Glorfindel watched him go then regarded the grisly bonfires about. Soon the orcs would be no more than piles of ash and blackened bones.

Suddenly feeling quite smothered by the cloying closeness of the forest and the acrid smoke of the fires, he looked skyward, longing for a glimpse of the open expanse of the sky rather than the shadowy canopy of the forest. To his delight, he saw that a gap yawned amidst the tangled branches.

There in the distance, sparkling with bold brilliance, was a star of uncommon whiteness of light. Glorfindel smiled and a whisper of gratitude left his lips.

He wondered if blessed Eärendil shone with as much brightness in the south where the last remnants of a noble race of men from beyond the sea battled to preserve their land and their heritage. Where two valiant hobbits scrabbled amid the desolation of Mordor in a desperate bid to end the Shadow’s encroachment on the lives of all who refused him their servitude. 

And where the owner of his heart had gone to fight at the side of a mortal he called brother. He prayed that it was so.

* * * *

The Pelennor Fields, Gondor  
The reek of blood and dead flesh permeated the air of the plains before Minas Tirith. There was simply not enough manpower to take care of the dead on the vast field. The Men of the West had seen to their fallen first and now faced the task of disposing of the bodies of Easterlings and Southrons, orcs and trolls. A far greater undertaking considering their vast numbers.

Elladan wrinkled his nose in distaste as he moved toward the center of the military camp that now lay before the city walls. Ah, for the fresh breezes of Imladris to lighten his mood, he thought. And the wondrous scent of his golden-haired mate to replenish his spirit. He slipped into a tent that stood between the quarters of Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Éomer of Rohan.

Elrohir glanced up from where he sat, clad in his breeches and little more. He had been cleaning and polishing his sword in readiness for the next battle. No longer did the taint of orc blood still cling to the shining metal or chipped bone and slivers of flesh hide amongst the minute crevices in the elegantly wrought hilt.

Before him on a pallet lay the long, lithe form of his woodland lover.

Elladan smiled at the sight of his future law-brother in sound repose, a bare shoulder peeking out from under Elrohir’s blanket. He did not need to see the trail of purplish-red marks that ran from the base of the prince’s throat to the curve of his shoulder to guess at the cause of his contentment.

Elrohir rose to his feet and greeted his twin. “I thank you for allowing us this time together, _tôr iuar_ ”—older brother—he softly added. “Legolas was in dire need of my comforting. His bond to the green wood is very strong. He sensed trouble in his father’s realm.”

“And he was right,” Elladan agreed. “I cannot blame him for his fear. I, too, sensed Glorfindel’s fraught feelings at the moment he engaged in battle.”

“And now?”

“He is well.”

“That bodes well for Mirkwood then.” Elrohir regarded his brother curiously. “You knew Glorfindel was in peril yet it did not overcome you.”

“Nay, it only spurred my outrage. I take it Legolas felt otherwise?”

Elrohir shook his head. “He was not overcome but it took him by surprise. He has never tested the primal bond that holds us to the lands of our births. This is the farthest he has ever journeyed from Mirkwood. I think it shocked him that he could tell when evil invaded his home. And troubled him that he could do naught to succor his father and people.”

They both looked at the archer, regretful that his innocence should have been shaken by the events of their times.

“Why do you not bind to him now?” Elladan suggested. “We know not what the morrow will bring us.”

“It would not serve him, Elladan,” Elrohir said. “You have seen how his bond with his home has disturbed him. He is unused to such distractions. Were he to know the full effects of espousal to me, it would only divert him and place him in danger.” He smiled at his brother. “Do not fear for us, brother mine. We renewed our pledge to each other and all that is lacking is the blood rite. Nothing will sunder us now; not even the Halls of Awaiting.”

Elladan brightened. “When?”

“On the Corsair ship as we sailed down Anduin.”

The older twin smiled. “My felicitations then,” he said. “I hope we will yet witness the sealing of your pledge when all is done.” He turned to go. Elrohir clapped a hand on his shoulder, staying him a while longer.

“Gimli is amenable?” he inquired.

“He is.”

They grinned at each other before Elladan left.

“Elrohir?”

The Elf-knight glanced back. Legolas had raised himself on one arm and was looking at him with concern. Elrohir smiled, thinking what a comely picture his prince made with his shining hair tumbling about his shoulders and his white torso bare to his eyes when the blanket slipped down to his waist.

He walked back and knelt before Legolas.

“Is aught amiss with Elladan?” the archer asked.

“Nay, he only came to see how you fared. He saw your distress and desired to assuage your fears.” At Legolas’ questioning stare, he said, “As you sensed the turmoil in your land, so did Elladan feel the unease in Glorfindel’s heart when he charged into battle.”

“Then the war has touched Mirkwood!”

“It did. But Glorfindel is at peace once more and that can only mean that the same can be said for your father and folk.”

Legolas digested the information for a spell. Elrohir leaned close until their foreheads touched and the prince closed his eyes, calmed by his betrothed’s soothing words and touch. At length, he stirred and sighed.

“I should return to my tent now,” he murmured, reluctance tinging his voice.

Elrohir smiled and shook his head. “This is your tent, _ernilen_.”—my prince.

“But Elladan—”

“Does not mind sharing sleeping quarters with Gimli. He is quick-witted and jovial of spirit, your Dwarf-friend is. ‘Tis no wonder that you have befriended him so heartily.”

Legolas smiled back. Curling an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders, he pulled him closer.

“Love me, my Elf-knight,” he whispered before sealing his lips to Elrohir’s.

Elrohir tenderly complied. It was many heartbeats later when he heard Legolas’ soft sigh of contentment, muffled against his shoulder.

Outside, ere he made his way to Gimli’s tent, Elladan paused and let his eyes stray north. 

His spirit sought the connection that bound him to his beloved captain. Feeling it wax between them in heartfelt assurance, he relaxed and looked up at the lightless firmament. Peering into the sooty distance, he started when he descried a single star, its light piercing the darkness in seeming defiance.

The older twin beamed, knowing that star for his grandsire, the valorous Mariner himself. As Glorfindel had done, he prayed that hallowed light would find some way to shine upon the two beleaguered Halflings who had ventured into the land of shadow, bearing with them all the hopes of the Free Folk of Middle-earth.

* * * *

By chance or by fate, their prayers were answered. Upon crawling out from beneath the curtain of brambles where he and Frodo had sought shelter, Samwise Gamgee looked up to the veiled skies above the Ephel Dúath. And as he did, the clouds parted for a moment and, lo, a star showed itself to the intrepid hobbit.

In that moment, Sam understood that the Shadow’s reach was only so long and that there were things it could neither sully nor destroy. That for all his malevolence and strength, the Dark Lord could not vanquish all light and beauty and hope.

He crept back to his place under the brambles and finally found peace in slumber at his master’s side, heartened by that bright beacon on a black night when it was least expected.

********************************  
Glossary:  
Gwaeron – Sindarin for March  
Ephel Dúath - mountain range running along the western and southern borders of Mordor

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In LoTR: _The Return of the King_ \- Book 6, Chapter 2: _The Land of Shadow_ , Sam spotted a single star just above the Ephel Dúath. I like to think it was Eärendil that he saw.


	19. XVIII.

Rohan, _Nórui_ 14 T.A. 3019  
The bride-to-be of Gondor’s king was escorted to her nuptials not only by her own people of Rivendell but also the folk of the Golden Wood. It was fitting that this third union of Elf and Man should be celebrated by both kindreds but in particular by any of Elrond’s kin. For at last the long sundered lines of the Peredhil would finally unite once more.

On the eve before they would arrive in Edoras, the Elves encamped in one of the groves that dotted the rugged landscape of the Riddermark. Numerous though they were, it took keen eyes to see them from afar for they seemed to blend in with their surroundings, such was the efficacy of their muted garments and tents. Only their campfires gave away their presence and then only if mortal eyes caught sight of them where they blazed shielded by the Elves’ tents.

Glorfindel listened to the talk around him but spoke little. It was still a matter of astonishment to him that he was kin to the Peredhil, which accounted for his current inclusion in their small circle. He sat between Arwen and Elrond, across from Celeborn and Galadriel, and was privy to the most intimate discussions amongst them. As he listened, it struck him that he would always be a part of such gatherings; that his thoughts and opinions would no longer be regarded as those of a mere soldier or advisor but as a close relation.

He was one of them now. He was family. And, splendor of Eru, it felt good.

When the talk turned to the time it would take to reach Minas Tirith, he and Arwen exchanged glances of tacit understanding. They were in accord. They were both anxious to reach their destination and be united with they who kept their hearts.

The stars were shining brightly when he finally retired to his tent. But before he slipped within, he felt eyes on him. With a sigh, he glanced back to a group of Geledhil where they had gathered around another campfire. He was not surprised to find young Rúmil watching him.

It had been so ever since they met up with the Lothlórien contingent. Celeborn and Galadriel had brought a fair number of their warriors with them and amongst them had been Haldir and his brothers Rúmil and Orophin. 

From the first, the guard had avoided him but nevertheless observed him from afar. Resentment had been his first reaction upon seeing the Elf-lord but that had later been supplanted by incredulity when he espied the gold band on Glorfindel’s right index finger. The captain did not think it beyond Rúmil to suspect that he had been coerced into matrimony. For such had been the Balrog slayer’s reputation that few ever expected him to bind himself in wedded eternity.

The disbelief had given way to bitter resignation. It told Glorfindel that the warden still held much affection and desire for Elladan. Had he not bound himself to the older twin, Rúmil would not have hesitated to try his luck again so to speak. 

The very notion caused an answering flare of anger in the captain but was swiftly followed by patent relief that he need never again face the prospect of losing Elladan to another Elf. Elrond’s older son was his and he was never as grateful for the inviolability of elven marriage vows as he was now.

He slipped into the tent, his heart singing even as it yearned for the one who made it trill its tune. He had just shed his tunic when he heard a soft commotion outside. Someone was approaching the camp and the guards had issued a challenge. He wondered if the Rohirrim had gotten wind of their presence and had come to investigate.

That was when he felt it, surging through his very veins. The sense of nearness was so overwhelming that it all but froze him to the very spot. 

Snapping out of his momentary trance, he hurried out of the tent in time to see two great warhorses canter into the midst of the camp, their riders clad in silver and grey, the colors of Imladris. They swiftly dismounted and were swept into the fervent embraces of Elrond and Arwen and the Lord and Lady of the Wood. 

Glorfindel strode toward them quickly. One of the horsemen whirled around at his approach and, a moment later, he had his arms around his Peredhel spouse.

To say that he caused quite a stir with his actions was an understatement. The Glorfindel of old would have simply nodded at his lover; mayhap gone so far as to smile or extend a welcoming hand. But the Glorfindel who had so recently joined his heart and spirit to the older of Erond’s twins did no such thing. 

In full sight of everyone, he cupped Elladan’s face and sealed their mouths together in a devouring kiss that set eyebrows rising in astonishment and lips spreading into brilliant smiles of approval.

Even when they broke apart, still they had eyes only for each other and it took the discreet clearing of Galadriel’s throat to remind them that they were in the middle of a camp. Elladan chuckled as his mate actually blushed with chagrin at having behaved with such wanton enthusiasm before Elves not of Elrond’s household.

“I never thought I would live to see such a sight as our fair captain overcome by love’s thrall!” Arwen laughingly quipped.

Whereupon Elrohir declared: “You had best bed him down for the night, _tôr iuar_ ”—older brother—“ere you scandalize the more proper souls amongst us.”

Elrond shook his head in supposed reprimand though his lips twitched suspiciously. With a faint, sympathetic smile, he said: “Go, both of you. Elrohir can recount to us what passed since you rode away.”

Elladan beamed gratefully at his father before grabbing Glorfindel’s hand and demanding he lead them to their tent. The captain wasted no time but did as he was bid.

“I had not thought to see you until we reached Gondor,” he whispered as they walked.

“I could not wait,” Elladan replied, tightening his arm around his lover’s waist. “As soon as we received word of your journey south, I insisted that we meet you.” He stole a kiss just as they came to the tent and was gratified when Glorfindel refused to release his lips even as they slipped into the tent.

Once within, Elladan at once grabbed at Glorfindel’s breech-laces and virtually tore them loose. The captain gaped in surprised delight when his spouse dropped to his knees before him, freed his rigid shaft and promptly clapped his lips around the engorged flesh. Time came to a standstill for Glorfindel as Elladan hungrily sucked him to the brink of completion. Pushed past the edge, he groaned harshly and spilled himself quite copiously then gasped when Elladan drank him down.

“Valar, but you are eager!” he exclaimed when he found his breath once more.

Elladan laughed as he rose to his feet, already starting to undress as he did. “I have thought of naught but this moment since the dawn we parted,” he retorted. “I have missed you so much, _meleth_.”—love.

Glorfindel’s eyes darkened with desire. “Not more than I have yearned for you,” he declared. “This is the last I will suffer so long a separation from you, Elladan!”

He caught his spouse in a crushing embrace and a ravaging kiss. How they managed to strip off the remainder of their clothing, they could not be certain. All that mattered was to leave nothing but skin between them ere they laid themselves down upon Glorfindel’s wide pallet.

Elladan broke their kiss long enough to take notice of the uncommon width of the bedding. “You came prepared,” he grinned.

Glorfindel grinned back and said, “With you, ‘tis prudent to always be prepared.” He rolled Elladan onto his back and spread himself atop the twin. “Not to mention provident.”

He preempted any more remarks with a spate of scorching kisses, supping deeply of the sweet confines of Elladan’s mouth. It simply had been too long and the addition of the fears wrought by war had whipped his desire to such a peak that he could scarce keep himself from simply burying himself in his lover’s body.

He forced himself to slow down somewhat. It was not easy at all and he had Elladan crying out here and then from the sheer intensity of his sensual assault. It seemed not an inch of creamy skin would be left unmarked by suckling lips and nibbling teeth if the telltale bruises on Elladan’s throat, shoulders, arms and chest were any indication.

“Ah, sweet Eru!” Elladan moaned when his nipples were mauled to a scarlet hue while a grasping hand gripped him and began to stroke him lustily.

Glorfindel impatiently parted his lover’s thighs and knelt between them. Without letting go of Elladan’s shaft, he summarily reached behind his spouse with his other hand and pushed his fingers into him. Elladan arched, instinctively surging against the incursion. With a hoarse cry, he came to completion, his seed dappling his belly and Glorfindel’s fist.

Elladan fell back with a weak groan, his sudden release winding him for a moment. He presented a sight too delectable to resist for the already ravenous captain. Hissing with the effort not to spend himself over-soon, Glorfindel delayed no further in taking his pleasure.

Elladan gasped as the captain shoved his turgid length as deeply as possible into him. He clutched at Glorfindel’s arms, struggling to adjust to so sudden and thorough a breaching. The captain went still, barely holding on to the last strands of patience, unwilling to cause any further discomfort for his mate. Elladan drew a deep breath, opened his eyes and, with a smile, nodded his readiness.

Glorfindel’s control snapped and he drove into Elladan repeatedly with almost brutal force. Yet it was exactly what the twin desired, this feral, primal joining that made their reunion all the more real to him.

They moved together in ecstasy, every lunge of Glorfindel’s hips met by Elladan’s accommodating bucks. The darkling prince curled a leg around the golden captain’s hips and pressed into him with his heel, as if to push him in even more deeply. He reached up and pulled Glorfindel down to meet his waiting lips. Their mouths melded in near savage rapture. Their hard bodies slipped and slid against the other with every sheathing of flesh within flesh.

It did not take them long to explode together in utmost bliss, their bond heightening every thought and sensation between them. It did not take them long either to embark on another round of loving as soon as their bodies recovered from the first. Nor was the second the last.

They finally shared their respective experiences of the War during a lull in their couplings. Glorfindel’s swift recounting of the battles in Mirkwood, Dale, Erebor and Lórien was in contrast to Elladan’s more halting narration of the eerie ride through the Paths of the Dead, the anxious journey down Anduin, the brutal fight on the fields of the Pelennor, the somber meeting of the Captains of the West and the final desperate battle before the very gates of Mordor.

“I truly thought ‘twas the last battle I would ever know,” the twin murmured. “I was not afraid of death but I did not wish to break my promise to you. I did not want to leave you alone yet again with nary a word of farewell. I rued the oaths that had parted us once more. I have never done so before, Glorfindel.”

The captain held him tightly. Elladan had echoed the sentiment in his heart and for warriors of their mettle to think thusly spoke volumes of the feelings they held for each other, both the love and the need.

“Then you will quest no more?”

“I am done with it. This war has drained me of all my rancor. I will still defend what is mine to protect. But I will no longer seek out evil. Let evil come to me if it dares.”

Glorfindel felt a mighty surge of relief. “That gladdens me,” he whispered.

They lay in companionable silence for a spell. At length, Elladan looked at Glorfindel, a hint of anxiety in his grey eyes.

“Are you in haste to return to Aman?” he inquired.

Glorfindel frowned. “Not truly. Why?”

“Legolas has expressed a desire to establish a colony of Elves out of Mirkwood in Ithilien. ‘Tis a province of Gondor, just across Anduin from Minas Tirith. A lovely place, Glorfindel, with forests far more beauteous than any I have seen in the North. ‘Tis rightly named the Garden of Gondor.”

“I can see why Legolas would be enamored of such a place,” the captain said. “But why a colony there? What of his father’s realm?”

“Legolas wishes to aid Estel in the rebuilding of his kingdom. In its healing. He and Gimli have offered him what succor they can give.”

Glorfindel looked keenly at his Peredhel mate. “Will Legolas leave Middle-earth one day?”

Elladan nodded. “He has told Elrohir that he will stay only for the duration of Estel’s reign. After that, he will sail for Valinor.”

“Meaning Elrohir will forego sailing with your father until then.”

“Aye.”

“And you wish to stay on as well.”

“We both do. Estel is dear to us and we would help him if we can. And we would also keep company with Arwen until—well, until the end.”

“But what of the edict laid upon you that you must go with your father or forfeit your immortality?”

Elladan smiled faintly. “Legolas will become steward of Elrohir’s immortal flame in Father’s place when they bind,” he explained.

“Ah, then you are asking me to stay on as steward over yours,” Glorfindel concluded.

“‘Tis a request, not a demand,” Elladan hastened to say. “If you feel you must leave, then I will go with you.”

Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. “Nay, I feel no great urge to return soonest. I wish to abide wherever you are, Elladan. So long as you are at my side, I am content. Finish what you must, _seron vell_.”—beloved. He reached for Elladan’s quiescent shaft and lazily stroked it, enjoying the feel of it beginning to stir and lengthen under his caressing fingers. “I will serve you as faithfully as I served your father.”

Elladan stared at him in bemusement. “Serve me?” he repeated, trying to ignore for the moment the pleasurable sensations in his groin.

“But of course,” Glorfindel grinned. “You will be Lord of Imladris once Elrond sails and I your captain.”

The older twin looked horrified. “You are my _bereth_!”—spouse! “You will _not_ serve me!”

“Yet Elrohir will also serve you when you assume your father’s mantle,” Glorfindel pointed out. “And he will do so with great pride as will I. Do not shy from what we offer you, Elladan. ‘Tis given in love and trust and not out of mere fealty.”

Elladan sighed. “‘Tis not what I had in mind,” he grumbled. He suddenly shook his head vehemently. “Nay, ‘tis not I that you will serve but Imladris! I will have neither of you treating me any differently than you do now!”

Glorfindel chuckled. “But I find it a great pleasure to serve you, _melethen_.”—my love. “Or should I say ‘service’ you?”

Elladan did not respond by way of protest or assent. He could not when his very breath was stolen from him by the engulfment of his shaft in his mate’s mouth. What had been slowly awakening with languid fondling promptly hardened into full arousal with vigorous suckling.

Satisfied with Elladan’s state of readiness, Glorfindel anointed his moist length with their combined nascent seed. Without further ado, he straddled Elladan’s groin and gloved the rigid flesh with his body. His dear mate’s drawn out rapturous groan was more than ample reward for his efforts.

The remainder of their waking moments for the night was devoted to wringing the greatest pleasure from this last coupling. They did so with as much joy and lust as they could muster in celebration of their pact never to be parted again for longer than either could bear.

* * * *

The elven cavalcade set forth for the capital of Rohan early the next morn. They would stay one night in Edoras before departing on the journey to Minas Tirith.

Elladan’s face glowed with a felicitous smile; he was wonderfully refreshed by a full night spent in Glorfindel’s arms. He glanced fondly at his spouse who had dropped back to have a quick word with Erestor who rode immediately behind with his wife and children. His eyes strayed to several Geledhil who rode abreast with the counsellor’s family. Amongst them were the guard-brothers, Haldir and Orophin. He wondered where the third, Rúmil, could be.

“He is at the rear of the Galadhrim, behind Grandsire and Grandam,” Elrohir informed him, neatly guessing at his puzzlement. “And looking most poorly I must say.”

Elladan frowned and took a swift look back to where their grandparents were. Sure enough, the Elf in question trailed behind them and, as Elrohir had put it, appeared far from hale. 

That worried Elladan. Whatever his dalliance with Rúmil had cost him, he could not wish any evil on the Galadhel. With a nod at Elrohir, he slowed his steed until Orophin caught up with him.

“What ails your brother?” Elladan asked the warden, tilting his head in Rúmil’s direction. “If he were not an Elf, I’d say he looks positively ill.”

“Not ill, _hiren_ ”—my lord—“but sick at heart mayhap,” Orophin said wryly. “My brothers and I were quartered in the tent next to yours last night.”

Elladan gaped at the Galadhel for a moment. Then he remarked: “You are remarkably calm about his distress.”

Orophin shrugged. “Rúmil is no greenling in affairs of the heart,” he replied. “And Haldir and I did counsel him to move to another tent when you arrived. But, as usual, he did not heed us and thus must suffer the consequences of his mulishness.” He regarded Elladan amiably. “You are kind to trouble yourself over our affairs however trivial. I wish you joy and contentment in your binding. And also a stout heart. I for one would be too timid to take on such a one as the Balrog slayer!”

Elladan had to laugh at the Elf’s last comment. “Aye, a stout heart is indeed necessary with my lord Glorfindel,” he agreed with a smile.

He returned to his place at Elrohir’s side. Before he could speak, Glorfindel returned as well, a golden eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“What need had you to confer with Orophin?” he asked.

The brethren grinned. There was no mistaking the slightest hint of suspicion in Glorfindel’s tone. Elrohir gibed, “And would you care were it any Elf other than Rúmil’s brother?”

Glorfindel laid a severe glare on his law-brother. But it did not quite have the effect on the Elf-knight that it ought to have had for Elrohir was actually pleased with this show of possessiveness over his twin. Elladan hastened to intervene before his brother turned a simple exchange into a verbal battle and told them what Orophin had said.

To his surprise, while Elrohir guffawed over the story, Glorfindel beamed with what he could only call smugness.

“I thought he would,” the captain said. “He is indeed of a mulish disposition.”

“You thought he would?” Elladan repeated. “What do you—?” He gasped in astonishment. “You knew they were in the tent next to ours and did not tell me?”

“Yea, I knew. And pray tell, why should I have told you? So that you would temper your passion to spare his sensibilities? I think not!”

Elrohir’s restrained hilarity escalated into raucous laughter while Elladan could only stare at his fair spouse, not quite certain whether he was aghast or delighted by the manner of Glorfindel’s retribution against the Elf who had done him injury.

“‘Twas only poetic justice,” Glorfindel calmly pointed out.

Elladan groaned before his sense of humor got the better of him and he joined his spouse and brother in mirth.

*****************************  
Glossary:  
Nórui – Sindarin for June  
Geledhil (sing. Galadhel) – Tree-elves  
Galadhrim – the Elves of Lothlórien

_To be concluded…_


	20. Epilogue

Imladris, _Yavannië_ T.A. 3021  
Summer was over and autumn had come to the vale. The foliage was starting to shed the verdant hues of the growing seasons and take on a golden guise. And the weather had turned as well. It was pleasantly cool, more so in the early mornings and late evenings.

Yet in the hearth in Elladan and Glorfindel’s apartment a fire had been lit, heating the room beyond comfortably warm. Glorfindel stood before it, silent and still, immersed in deep contemplation. His fair face gleamed golden in the light cast by the dancing flames. He held in his hands the ancient journal that had been Faelrin’s, his doomed love of Gondolin.

He had read the entire tome one more time the night before, staying up until the stars began to fade. Committing to memory much of what lay within and consigning to oblivion that which only left bitterness in its wake. When the first rosy streaks of early morning light began their journey across the sky, he rose from beside his slumbering mate and silently crossed over to the bedroom hearth. Now he regarded the fire with mixed feelings. 

Fire had tormented him even as he plunged to his death in his first life. Had reduced his beloved city in exile to blackened ruins. Had destroyed countless lives and homes down through the ages. 

Yet fire also afforded warmth and light and safety. Without the tempering heat of fire, there would be no great treasures of precious metal, no precisely wrought weapons for the protection of life and limb, and, far from mundane in his opinion, no repasts and feasts to celebrate milestones of every sort.

There would always be two sides to every coin. True wisdom came with knowing which side to choose and which to avoid.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and slid the journal into the depths of the blaze before him. As the flames began to lick at its corners and edges, he felt a sharp urge to retrieve the book ere it was destroyed. But he fought the impulse, knowing this was for the best however much it hurt him.

He felt Elladan’s arms slide around him from behind and he leaned back against his mate, needful of his succor.

As the flames slowly consumed the journal, he felt the pain of loss sweep over him again. As if his heart was being torn apart, piece by piece. Elladan tightened his embrace and pressed his lips to the side of his neck. 

Glorfindel sighed as the sundered pieces came together once more to fashion a heart far stronger and more loving than it ever had been before. And with it came the sweet ecstasy of freedom from a past that had shackled as much as it had shaped him.

He felt liberated in all senses of the word.

He turned to Elladan, allowing his mate to love him until the dawn blossomed into a bright autumnal morning. And then they bathed and dressed and went to the dining hall for breakfast with Elrond, Elrohir and Legolas and Galadriel and Celeborn.

They gathered as a family for the last time. Elrond and Galadriel would leave Imladris this day and take ship at the Havens for the western shores. Celeborn had chosen not to accompany his wife on the last leg of her journey to Mithlond, fearful he would not be able to let her board the ship when it came to that.

Many others would be leaving with Elrond—a little more than half of the household. Erestor and his family, most of the counsellors and theirs, many of the retainers and a majority of the craftsmen from the musicians to the smiths to the clothes-makers. But few of the warriors were departing. Their loyalty to Glorfindel was such that until their captain sought the Blessed Realm, they would remain in Middle-earth as well.

Glorfindel smiled when he espied Elrohir slipping a tidbit into Legolas’ mouth. A gold band gleamed proudly on the younger twin’s right index finger. A matching ring graced that same finger on Legolas’ right hand. 

Ah, that had been a most memorable wedding, he thought with some amusement. It had taken place the spring after Legolas’ return from exploring Fangorn with his Dwarf-comrade Gimli and a long side-trip to the Lonely Mountain that he might see his good friend’s home and meet his family as well. 

Elrohir had travelled later that year to the re-christened forest kingdom—just before the mountain passes were blocked by snow—to permit Legolas’ family to get acquainted with him. The others had followed as soon as winter passed. Elrond and many of his household, Elladan and Glorfindel, of course, and Celeborn and Galadriel all converged on Thranduil’s realm for this last binding in Middle-earth of a child of either house.

During the long cold months preceding the binding rites Elrohir had had to abide by the prenuptial traditions of the greenwood. The Elf-knight had done so with surprising good grace and near limitless patience. Indeed, he had gained Thranduil’s approval forthwith and proceeded to win the hearts of Eryn Lasgalen’s people with astounding swiftness. 

Until forest king and folk discovered that one particular custom had been circumvented on the very eve of the binding ceremony. The nuptial rites were nearly called off on the basis of sheer collective umbrage at the flagrant disregard for woodland tradition.

Not that Elrohir had instigated it; that had been Legolas’ doing. 

Glorfindel smothered a grin at the memory of a glowering Sindarin prince in half open shirt and loosely laced breeches, his throat and chest displaying blatant evidence of illicit activity, spiritedly defending his intended before his king-father and siblings, his future kin-by-law, several royal advisors and the servants who had come upon them unawares, and demanding that the ceremony push through as planned else he would remove himself and Elrohir to Imladris where they would bind to each other with or without his family’s presence. And Rhûn’s benighted hordes take them all if any dared to hinder them!

Thranduil had been duly impressed by his son’s defense of the younger twin. And Legolas’ impassioned declaration served to raise Elrohir even higher in everyone’s esteem. And so the nuptial rites had taken place that night before all the Woodland Realm, and Eldar, Sindar and Silvan folk were as much sealed in union by their vows as the Elf-knight and his Greenleaf.

Now they were planning the founding of Legolas’ Ithilien colony. Come the following spring, Elrohir would accompany his archer spouse and a goodly number of Wood-elves out of Eryn Lasgalen to the southern province and reside there for as long as it took to establish the colony. After that, he and Legolas would divide their time between Rivendell and Ithilien with occasional visits to the Woodland Realm.

Less than an hour after breakfast, they all gathered together once more, this time in the courtyard of the Last Homely House. 

Glorfindel watched Erestor help his wife onto a dappled steed before mounting it behind her. Their children filed behind them. A little to their rear were Lindir and a good number of his fellows. The music of Rivendell would be sadly diminished with their departure. And by the arched gate Gildor Inglorion and his band of Exiles waited; they were more than ready to make the journey home.

Elrond hugged his sons tightly ere he mounted his grey stallion. Words of assurance and promises passed between them and their eyes were seen to glisten with unshed tears. When their father was at last astride his mount, both Glorfindel and Legolas moved to console their mates, arms encircling waist or shoulders.

Galadriel and Celeborn spent many minutes just holding each other close, the Lady’s head nestling on her husband’s strong shoulder. At length, the Lórien lord raised her face to his and gave her a long and lingering farewell kiss before he firmly drew away and lifted her onto a snow-white palfrey. After a last look between them, she urged her horse alongside Elrond’s. Elrohir and Legolas flanked Celeborn that he might not feel so alone as he watched his wife ride away.

Elrond looked down at the Elf who had perished to preserve his sire’s life, returned to serve him and his and gone on to become part of his family.

“Take care of them for me, _mellon vell_ ”—dear friend—he softly intoned, referring not only to those of his kin present but to his faraway daughter and her husband as well.

“Rest assured, I will keep them safe,” Glorfindel said. “May your father’s light shine upon you on this journey to the West, Elrond.”

“And may he guide you all home when the time comes,” Elrond replied with a warm smile.

With that the company slowly rode out of the courtyard for the very last time.

Glorfindel looked from them to the brethren, Legolas and Celeborn. In his return to life and Middle-earth, he had gained kinsfolk other than those who awaited him in Valinor. Even Eryn Lasgalen’s king was now a relation through marriage.

When he had come to Imladris all those centuries ago, duty and honor had driven him. And so had a deep-seated need to assuage the pain and horror of his death by witnessing for himself the outcome of his sacrifice. What he had not expected was that he would also be accorded the chance to at last come to terms with the loss not only of his first love but also his belief that he would know another.

Elladan had proved him wrong from the start and had he but opened his heart from the moment his dear spouse initiated courtship, the chase would have ended long ago and he would have known redemption so much sooner. Not that he blamed himself completely; Elladan never had and never would and that was enough for him.

He tightened his hold around his darkling mate when the last of the company vanished beyond the gate. Elladan leaned against him, turning his face into his neck to hide the tears that flowed despite his best efforts. But when Glorfindel slid a finger beneath his chin and lifted it and looked into his eyes with concern, he shook his head and smiled.

“I am all right,” he murmured. “For so long as you are here with me, I will be all right.”

Glorfindel smiled back. “ _An-uir, melethen_ ”—forever, my love—was all he needed to say.

Here in these Hinter Lands he had loved and lost. But here, too, had he found his greatest guerdon, the only one that meant everything to him.

After a final glance at the gate, he and Elladan turned to go into the house with the rest of their family.

*******************************  
Glossary:  
Yavannië – Quenya for September  
guerdon – reward or recompense

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following _Chance Met_ and _Troth_ is the third and final ficlet in what turned into an impromptu trilogy. This piece will wrap up Legolas and Elrohir’s love story. My way of saying a fond goodbye to _The Captain’s Guerdon_


End file.
